


The Sunlight Girl

by cellorocket



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Banter, Canon Compliant, Childhood Friends, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Loss of Virginity, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Smut, True Companions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:41:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 38
Words: 239,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1359496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellorocket/pseuds/cellorocket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Auruo Bossard was twelve when he knew he wanted to marry her. Later that night his mother would rumple his messy hair and tell him with a laugh that he was much too young to make proclamations, that he had his whole life to figure it out. But he insisted. He knew, the way you know about ripe fruit and oncoming storms, the way you ache sometimes from a hurt you haven't yet sustained.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some have posted gorgeous fanworks to tie into this fic, so I've compiled them here. Thank you so much everyone <3  
> ASH: [ x](http://bossard.tumblr.com/post/142861416717/lindowyn-go-read-bossards-epic-longfic-the) [x](http://bossard.tumblr.com/post/144478252102/lindowyn-now-its-a-party-fanart-of-wil-from)  
> BEA: [x](http://bossard.tumblr.com/post/118718120952/willobea-its-not-a-big-deal-what-lies-they) [x](https://bossard.tumblr.com/post/118544843132/willobea-dood-for-cellostargalactica-because) [x](https://bossard.tumblr.com/post/150607007507/the-portraits-took-the-entire-morning-and-most-of)  
> DOKA [ x](http://dokashibichan.tumblr.com/post/97148142082/fuck-after-reading-the-new-chapter-from-the) [ x](http://dokashibichan.tumblr.com/post/86725439372/well-i-wanted-to-participate-in-petruo-s-week)  
> HANNAH: [ x](http://ignisvolat.tumblr.com/post/117178725873/x-im-gonna-keep-saying-this-until-you-punks) [x](http://ignisvolat.tumblr.com/post/114800683738/a-sunlight-girl-for-cellostargalactica-because-im) [x](http://bossard.tumblr.com/post/123725927722/ignisvolat-cellostargalactica)  
> MONTY: [x](https://bossard.tumblr.com/post/93329422612/montybyart-the-sunlight-girl-chibi-doodles)  
> NEON: [x](https://bossard.tumblr.com/post/142975971497/theneonflower-the-girl-flashed-petra-a) [x](https://bossard.tumblr.com/post/143590554837/theneonflower-take-it-back-auruo-spat)  
> PETORA: [ x](http://petora-raru.tumblr.com/post/97144843757/i-did-a-set-because-petruo-young-petruo) [ x](http://petora-raru.tumblr.com/post/97155852937/hey-cellostargalactica-like-that-im-trying-a) [ x](http://petora-raru.tumblr.com/post/97468904857/quick-shitty-doodle-from-cellostargalacticas) [x](http://petora-raru.tumblr.com/post/98467296157/doodles-from-the-sunlight-girls-newest-chapter) [x](http://petora-raru.tumblr.com/post/112839096242/butts) [x](http://petora-raru.tumblr.com/post/100695011017/hey-hey-heres-a-teaser-from-the-next-chapter)  
> OPB: [ x](https://bossard.tumblr.com/post/98741113462/orange-peach-blossoms-we-have-to-be-better) [ x](https://bossard.tumblr.com/post/113271795897/sharylchow-attack-on-titan-petra-x-auruo-the) [ x ](https://bossard.tumblr.com/post/98462983392/petora-raru-ao3-ffnet-cover-by) [ x](https://bossard.tumblr.com/post/98025351802/strawberryrosebud-orange-peach-blossoms) [ x](https://bossard.tumblr.com/post/92854152332/orange-peach-blossoms-so-there-has-been-a-surge) [x](https://bossard.tumblr.com/post/89383383662/orange-peach-blossoms-im-not-going-anywhere) x  
> SEEDY: [x](https://bossard.tumblr.com/post/149725968802/ch32-three-days-auruo-coached-himself-all-he)  
> 
> 
>   
> **  
> **  
> _Table of Contents_  
>   
> 
> [Part I](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1359496/chapters/2839090)  
> [Part II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1359496/chapters/3090385)  
> [Part III](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1359496/chapters/8438989)  
> [Interlude I](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1359496/chapters/29716410)  
> 

__

 

_-Part 1: The Sunlight Girl-_

Auruo Bossard was twelve when he knew he wanted to marry her.

Later that night his mother would rumple his messy hair, pinch his cheek, and tell him with a laugh that he was much too young to make proclamations, that he had his whole life to figure things out, and anyway hadn't he just meet the girl? But he insisted. He  _knew,_ the way you know about ripe fruit and oncoming storms, the way you ache sometimes from a hurt you haven't yet sustained.

By the end of the day he would know this, but right this moment, a few minutes before noon, all he knew was that he was eleven for a few hours more, and it was the last time in his life he'd have the privilege of being bored. He plopped down at the riverbank and worked his shoes off, tossing them aside with a petulant sigh before plunging his feet into the cool water. Slow, fat clouds passed in front of the sun, and somewhere in the distance he could hear Gerrard and his friends laughing. His ears burned, stomach clenched; the flinch, left over from before.

Tomorrow he would present himself to the foreman and officially join the workforce. He would work alongside his father, refining steel for the military. He would start off shoveling coal, but when he got a little older and stronger he would be promoted to actually forging the blades. He would have to try and forget why that was ironic.

Scowling, he pried a loose stone from the street and turned it over in his hands. It was smooth and flat, the surface of it speckled with light. Winding back, he threw it into the river. The stone skipped once before slipping beneath the surface, and ripples spread from each disturbance, mingling with the direction of the water. For some reason, the sight of it brought a hard lump to his throat. This might be the last day of boredom, but it was also the last day of freedom – as free as anyone could be within the Walls, anyway. It was the last day he could slip out of his hectic house to skip stones by the river.

He felt a bit guilty about using his last days of freedom to escape from his family, but lately everything they did drove him crazy. The beatific expression his mother wore as she went about her daily business infuriated him –it just wasn't possible for someone to be so content with so little! To make matters worse, his brother Benoit had not stopped crying for days. His wails were so piercing that it was all Auruo could do to keep from screaming himself, yet his mother only ever smiled and rocked the boy as she worked.

"Hey, old man!"

Something hard struck him square in the back and knocked him from his perch on the riverbank. He pitched forward, flailing for purchase before crashing into the river headfirst. The current was slow in this part of town and the bank was fairly shallow, but the water itself was freezing. With a surge of anger, he resurfaced and crawled onto the bank, spluttering for breath, biting down hard on his tongue to keep his teeth from chattering.

Of course. It was Gerrard and his cronies, standing with feet planted wide apart, arms crossed, like some stupid gang. Gerrard had even found a cigarette and clamped it between his thin lips, posing like he was some tough ass thug. They lived in the orphanage a few streets over from Auruo's apartment, and it had made them rough. "W-what the fuck are you d-doing?" Auruo spat.

Gerrard sneered. "Don't think your fat mommy'd like hearing you use that kind of language."

"Leave her out of this," Auruo snapped as he got to his feet, painfully aware that he was weedy and scrawny, that he had a skinny neck and knobby knees, that he looked just like his father, who himself looked ten years older than he was. Hence the name. "What do you want?"

"Just wanted to wish you happy birthday," Gerrard said innocently, sucking on the unlit cigarette.  _What a jackass._

It was only through the interference of their neighborhood schoolmistress that Gerrad knew this, insistent on at least a birthday song, and perhaps a pouch of nuts from the markets. "Thanks," Auruo said flatly. "Go away."

"Aw, come on, Bossard. At least let us say goodbye."

He blinked. "Goodbye?"

"Yeah, you deaf?" His entourage snickered, like being deaf was something to laugh at. The anger he was trying so desperately to swallow flared in his stomach. "We're off to the Cadet Corps. Going to join the Military Police in three years."

Auruo scoffed. "You? Get into the Military Police? You guys can't even fight me unless my back is turned."

"Yeah, we'll see about that," Gerrard said, and the smug jocularity in his voice was replaced by menace and intent. He looked at Auruo like a meal, or a bug to be crushed, and for a moment Auruo wondered if perhaps Gerrard would make an effective soldier after all.

It would have been smarter if Auruo had just nodded and smiled until Gerrard and his dumb friends lost interest, but Auruo didn't feel like being smart. He was soaked and freezing and so angry he wanted to snatch that ridiculous cigarette right out of Gerrard's smug mouth. So he did. Before anyone could react, he tossed it into the river and watched with satisfaction as the current carried it away.

"Woops," he said. And he grinned Titan wide.

Gerrard didn't even blink; he wound up and punched Auruo with so much force that he flew back, hitting the ground hard. Before he could scramble to his feet, his friends had flanked him, forcing him to his knees. He struggled, thrashing, cursing himself blue in the face, but he was not strong enough to throw off the cronies. Gerrard kicked him in the ribs once, twice, again and again until Auruo couldn't breathe from the pain, and it was a thousand times worse than being dumped in the freezing river. He felt consciousness ebb, but still he thrashed, still he fought – he'd go down fighting, if it was the last thing he ever did –

"Stop!"

Gerrard pulled away and the cronies released their hold on Auruo's arms. His head swam and each breath hurt bad enough to bring tears to his eyes, but he looked to the source of the command. A girl in a yellow dress who had spoken, with bright auburn hair braided halfway down her back. She was small and quite skinny, with a petite mouth and a slightly upturned nose. Objectively ordinary, but her eyes were what caught Auruo; they burned with fury, in a color he had never seen. She stormed toward them, her delicate hands clenched into fists. "Leave him alone!" the girl commanded. 

Her tone was so forbidding that Gerrard obeyed. He took a step back, his hands held up. "We were just having some fun, right old man?"

Auruo coughed. He could rat that shithead out and look like a wimp, or go along with his story and save a little face in front of the strange girl. Though he'd rather choke than do anything to help Gerrard, he finally nodded. "Right," he muttered.

Gerrard gestured to his friends, and without another word the three of them beat a hasty retreat, disappearing behind the apothecary before the strange girl could say another word to them. And oddly, Auruo was almost sorry for their absence. Now that they were gone, there was nothing to keep her from turning the full force of her scrutiny to him.

Her eyes softened as she studied him, in all his scrawny, old man glory. His face burned. "Are you okay?" she asked.

He nodded, struggling to compose himself. His mouth hurt, his ribs hurt, he was soaked to his bones and freezing, and he suspected that Gerrard might have even chipped one of his front teeth.

"You're bleeding," the girl said. She dug through the pocket of her cardigan until she'd produced a handkerchief, and, so gently that it nearly hurt, dabbed at his split lip.

He tried to pull away. "I'll ruin it," he said in a hearty voice.

But she persisted. "Blood washes out."

She was closer, now, and he could see a nearly translucent smattering of freckles scattered across her cheekbones. Her eyes narrowed as she pressed the handkerchief to corner of his mouth, and she captured her own lower lip between her teeth in an unconscious, sympathetic gesture. When she looked up at him again, an odd feeling curled in his stomach.

"Thanks," he said, biting the corner of his tongue hard.

"You're welcome," said the girl. "I'm Petra. What's your name?"

"A-Auruo," he said. At first he'd hoped to escape before exchanging names, because there was something strangely permanent about it, but the impulse faded as soon as she smiled. It was a smile that completely transformed her face; she was no longer scrawny and small but radiant, a sunlight girl in a yellow dress.

And that's when he knew.

~

Petra stared at the strange boy named Auruo, and as she watched a furious blush crept across his cheeks. She pitied him, but that pity was mingled with respect. She'd seen bullies go after the weak in her old village, and she'd expected she'd see it here too. But Auruo had not acted as most bullied children did; head down, trying to make themselves small, a survivor's reaction. He had fought, against sense or logic, even when outnumbered three to one, even when victory had been hopeless. 

They stared at one another, tentative and eager.

"Why were they beating you?" she asked him bluntly.

He shrugged. "They're assholes." A pause. "And … well, Gerrard was sucking on this stupid unlit cigarette – Gerrard was the guy kicking me – and it was just so stupid looking. Like you could just tell he thought it made him look tough. Like a thug." He fell silent and scuffed the ground with his feet, which she realized were bare. "So I threw it in the river."

She could picture it, and she giggled. "That wasn't smart."

"No," Auruo agreed, and for the first time since she'd meet him, he grinned. He had a nice smile. "Felt pretty good though."

"They pushed you in the river too, didn't they?"

He nodded, then shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal.

She looked down at his feet again. "Where are your shoes?"

He spun around, searching the riverbank. "Ah, shit. I don't know.  _Shit!"_

She eyed him speculatively. "You swear a lot."

"I just lost my shoes!" he spluttered, indignant. "One of Gerrard's friends probably kicked them into the river when I wasn't looking."

That sounded likely, going by what she'd seen of the boy and his friends. "I'll help you look for them," she offered brightly. She'd planned on exploring her new home today, but something about Auruo had changed her mind. He was funny and a bit sad. Already his ash-blond hair had begun to dry, curling around his ears in a messy mop, and she found it oddly endearing. She thought she'd like to try and make him smile more. "They're probably only a little ways downriver."

He stared at her like he'd never seen anything like her in his life before looking away, another blush coloring his cheeks. "You don't have to do that," he muttered. "It's not a big deal."

"I don't mind," she said. "Come on. The sooner we start looking, the sooner we'll find them."

With that, they set out, walking alongside the river and scouring it for any sign of the Auruo's shoes. She didn't ask questions; going by the state of his clothes – worn and neatly patched in many places– he probably didn't have the money to buy another pair.

She snuck a glance at him from the corner of her eye. "Why were your shoes off in the first place?"

He looked at her, and the wind caught a tuft of his hair, making it stick straight up. "You ask a lot of questions."

"I ask questions because I'm interested in the answers," she said in a dignified way.

A shadow of his smile caught at his lips. "If I weren't so nice I'd call you a snoop."

"It's a good thing you're nice, then," she said, hands on hips. "Or I'd have to shove you in the river myself."

"I'd pull you in with me," he said, and now he smiled for real, a grin that had acquired a teasing, predatory edge. "And it's cold."

"That wouldn't be very nice, Auruo," she chastised.

"That's true," he agreed, then he grew quiet. "Maybe I'm not nice at all."

She could already see from the expression on his face that this had less to do with her and more to do with an as of yet unknown worry at the back of his mind. But she could also see that he was, because when he smiled,  _really s_ miled, it lit his eyes from within. There was kindness there, in the way his first thought had been for ruining her handkerchief and not his own injuries.

"I think you are," she said finally.

"You don't even know me."

"I'd like to, though."

He looked away, scowling. “Geez.”

"And besides," she added. "You didn't answer my question."

He sighed, scuffing the ground with his bare feet again. "Tomorrow is my first day of work. At the steel mill. And I just … well, I used to come here and skip stones in the river. I was kind of saying goodbye to it today. And before you ask, you don't have to take off your shoes to skip stones, but it's nice. The water's cool, and it's kind of relaxing." He hunched his shoulders. "It probably sounds stupid."

"I think it sounds lovely," she said, and she smiled. "I don't know how to skip stones, but I could probably manage the feet in the river part."

"You'd have to be really dumb to mess that up," he said, snickering.

They were quiet as they watched the river, and she thought that she understood why he was so sad. It was beautiful here, the sound of rushing water almost drowning out the sounds of the city, the sunlight catching in the surface. But she understood something about leaving, and the parts of you left behind afterward.

He mumbled something, and his words were swallowed by the river.

"What?" she asked.

He faced her, blushing furiously. "I said I could show you!"

"To stick my feet in the water?"

"No, you brat. To skip stones." He swallowed, hunching his shoulders again. "I mean, if you want."

"Brat, huh," she said, but her heart wasn't in it; instead, she found his quick jab kind of cute, and she liked that he broke past his shyness long enough to be exasperated or funny. She cut him off before he could get even more worked up. "I'd like that a lot, Auruo."

"I mean, I gotta find my shoes first," he said quickly, ducking his head to try and hide his blushing. "If that's alright."

She nodded, and they resumed their scan of the river. Already Auruo was less hangdog – his shoulders unhunched, back a little straighter – and she almost thought she saw him smile before he pushed a messy tuft of hair out of his eyes. They hadn't gone far when something caught against an outcropping of shallow grass on the other side of the river caught her attention. "Do those look familiar to you?" she asked.

He brightened. "My shoes!"

She worked off her own shoes, lining them up neatly on the riverbank and bunching her dress to her knees so the hem wouldn't get wet. She saw Auruo falter, and his hazel eyes went wide. "W-what are you doing?"

"I can get across on those rocks, see?" she said, pointing. "Just sit tight. I'll be right back."

"Come on, I can't let you do that. You might slip," he said, holding out his hands to stop her.

"Come on, yourself. You're finally dry," she said, a little irritated. "What if you fell in again?"

"Then I'd dry off again," he said, scowling. "Just hold on."

"No, you hold on!" He'd taken a step on the first stone, but she grabbed him – angry that he wouldn't let her do something for him after all that he'd gone through today, and that he had to be a stubborn jerk about it. "And what's this about 'letting me' do anything?!"

"W-what are you doing?!"

"Just get out of the way!"

"You're going to fall!"

"I won't if you get out of the way!"

She'd grabbed him too hard – she felt his center of balance shift, his arms windmilling as he fell backward, and she made to grab him just as he tried to push her back onto the safety of the bank, but it was no use; the pair of them crashed into the river in a tangle of flailing limbs. And he had been right; the water was as cold and deep as darkness.

~

Auruo shot out of the river like a bullet, gasping for breath and craning around for Petra, who still hadn't resurfaced. Suddenly he was frantic in a way he had never been before. He saw the yellow of her dress billow beneath the surface of the river, saw her thrash desperately for purchase, and without thinking he dove back into the freezing water, griping her tightly around the waist and hauling her up. She clung to the front of his vest almost immediately, and he saw her eyes -- wide with terror. The current was stronger here and the water deeper than he was tall, but he was a good swimmer, and with a perfect sidestroke he swam to the riverbank, careful to keep her head above water. He pulled her up first before scrabbling up the riverbank himself, his heart beating so hard against his ribs that he thought he'd find a hole in his chest when he looked down.

"Are you all right?!" he choked, turning her over and pulling her close. "Petra!"

She coughed, one shaking hand at her throat. "Y-yeah," she said, shivering.

"Why didn't you swim for the bank?!" he shouted.

She wouldn't look at him. Her dripping braid curled over her shoulder, and she pulled at it nervously, squeezing the water out. "I c-can't swim," she said in a small voice.

He could do nothing but stare, his heart crashing in his chest. It slowly dawned on him how easily she could have drowned, this bright girl who had blundered her way into his life, who was already so vital. "You c-could have died!" he shouted. "Why didn't you just stay back and let me take care of it?!"

"I wouldn't have f-fallen if you'd have just let me g-go!" she shouted back, her face red.

"What if you'd slipped, huh? What about then?"

Her blazing eyes narrowed. "I w-w-wouldn't have."

"You don't know that," he snapped, breathing hard. "You could have  _died."_

The temper faded from her expression, and Auruo was horrified to see her eyes fill with tears. It was the most heartbreaking thing he'd ever seen in his short, admittedly sheltered life – this pretty, soaked girl shivering on the riverbank, her skinny arms wrapped around her body, just about to burst into tears. He couldn't believe himself; yelling at a girl, the  _nicest g_ irl he'd ever met just because she also happened to be stubborn and had been about to do something pretty stupid. Like he'd never done anything stupid in his life.  _You idiot,_ he cursed himself.

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. "I was just trying to make you smile. I wanted to do something nice."

He froze. "W-what?"

"You just seem really sad. I don't know." She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry."

He couldn't stand it anymore. "Ah … come on. Please don't cry. I'm sorry I yelled at you. I was just scared, okay?

"You were?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Yeah!" he nearly shouted. " _You could have died!"_

"All right, all right," she said, smoothing her soaked dress over her knees. "I'm sorry."

"And stop apologizing, you brat," he said, and despite herself she let out a small laugh. "It's just … you have been nice. You're  _really_  nice. The nicest person I've ever met. So … you don't have to make any weird gestures on my account." He trailed off, his throat suddenly very tight. "Don't put yourself in danger like that again, okay?"

And finally, she nodded. "Okay," she said, and to his surprise she held out her hand to him. He stared at it for a moment before he realized she meant to shake on it, and as gingerly as one might hold a bird, he took her hand, and made a seal on that promise.

He noticed that she was shivering even worse now, her small hand shuddering inside his. The sun had disappeared behind the tops of the houses, so that the riverbank was now covered by shadow. But on the opposite bank, it was still sunny and open, the fields of grass undulating gently in a soft wind, as if to beckon them over.

He turned to her. "So if you promise not to throw us into the river again, I know how we can get dry without freezing to death," he said, shivering a little himself.

"You know it was half your fault," she said, scowling.

"Bullshit, it was half my fault!"

She rolled her eyes. "You said you had an idea?"

"Yeah, just … hang on to my hand, okay? We're going to step over to the other side, and you're  _not_ going to fall in this time."

She made a worried face. "I can get over on my own. I don't want to pull you in."

He sighed. "If you fall in, I'll be right behind you, and I'll be able to pull you out again. On the right bank this time. Don't be a stubborn brat for two seconds and follow me."

"Stubborn!" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Like you aren't either!"

"Shush," he said, firmly taking her hand and helping her to her feet.

They crossed the river very carefully. The stones were slick with moss and rushing water, and as soon as they'd taken their first step Petra gripped his hand so tightly he thought for a brief second it would break. But with his heart in his throat, he led them across. He chose each step carefully, his nerves jangling, utterly prepared to dive in again should she slip and fall. And he thought it was so odd then, so odd yet thrilling, that even though they'd only known one another for the span of an afternoon, she trusted him. He could feel it in the way she held his hand.

On the opposite bank, he was the one to let go first. He was supposed to be annoyed with girls, because they were furtive yet bland, shrill and irritating, but Petra was different, Petra was an entirely different species, and all he knew was the he did not want to let go, not yet.

He knew he was probably blushing again, because that's all his face seemed to know how to do, so he busied himself by disentangling his shoes from the patch of river grass at his feet. "Victory," he grinned, holding up his shoes like a trophy.

Petra grinned too, which was another kind of victory.

They walked east of the river a short ways until they reached a place where the grass was warm and dry. Before Petra could lie back, he peeled off of his vest and handed it to her. When she looked at him questioningly, he shrugged. "So your dress doesn't get dirty," he said, embarrassed. "I mean, it's not dry, but –"

"Thank you," she said, smiling up at him.

He smiled too, because he was awkward and couldn't think of anything else to say, but also because already she seemed to understand him, and for someone as lousy with words as he was, that was a gift that didn't come around every day.

"Thanks for saving me," she said after a long time – his clothes were already half dry by then.

He shifted uncomfortably. "What was I going to do, let you drown?"

For some reason this annoyed her. "I'm trying to say thank you and sorry, you jerk," she said, irritated.

"I thought I said to stop apologizing."

She huffed out an exasperated breath. "I get the feeling you're a very infuriating person."

"Well, you know what they say," he said with a cheeky, punch-drunk grin. "Takes one to know one."

She rolled her eyes, but he could tell she wasn't really that irritated. And for a person who had been more comfortable just keeping to himself, he found himself sharing his thoughts with Petra almost as they came to him. "Um … thanks, too. You know."

"What?"

He swallowed and made an impatient gesture, furiously aware that he was blushing again. "For saving me."

He could barely endure listening to such honesty, let alone speaking it, but she didn't look away. Her smile was earnest enough hurt, a deep ache that settled somewhere in the center of his chest. "You don't have to thank me for doing the right thing." 

 

He looked at her – amber eyes bright, burning like they had the first moment he'd seen her, that sunlight girl in the yellow dress, already so important -- and knew that she was telling the truth. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Auruo and Petra lay on their backs and watched the clouds. His clothes had long since dried from their unfortunate detour into the river, but the longer the silence grew the more difficult it became for him to fill it, even to suggest that they should get back home. He was incredibly aware of the girl next to him; the even pace of her breathing, the sound of the grass rustling beneath her as she shifted. Every few moments she would hum thoughtfully to herself, and after a while her presence lulled him.

He closed his eyes. The afternoon sun warmed his face, and a light breeze rustled the trees in the near distance. He could hear voices from town, but not words; each sound grew indistinct, a gentle hum just at the edge of hearing, and he found himself drifting in and out of consciousness, hovering in that halfway state between waking and sleep.

He dreamed. He saw himself soaring through the air, high above the world, with twin slivers of steel in his hands, extensions of his arms that cut through Titan flesh as if by thought alone. He was older, taller and lean. His scowl was permanently written on his face, even when he relaxed. But he was good – he was skilled! He had a purpose. He knew that with every Titan he killed he made the world better.

He dreamed of an open land, and there were no walls in that place. People travelled. They flew the skies and sailed great open stretches of water, filled with more strange and fascinating things that Auruo could ever imagine in his lifetime. There was more than enough food to go around for everyone, and the open world was no more dangerous than the places within the Walls. People wrote and sang and told stories, and they looked to the starlit sky with hope. They did not know fear.

"Auruo!"

He opened his eyes to see Petra hovering directly above him, her lips curled in an eager smile. His heart gave a strange lurch, as if it suddenly found his chest too small. "W-what?" he gasped.

   

"You fell asleep," she accused.

He rubbed his eyes and propped himself up on one elbow. "Sorry," he said, yawning. "Guess I was tired."

"Or you're lazy."

He wasn't really, but it amused him to see her so amused. "Whatever you say," he said, rolling his eyes.

But she wouldn't look away; her head tilted as she considered him, pursing her lips. She looked as if she struggled to reconcile a part of him that she hadn't yet seen, and he felt his face grow warm; no one had ever looked at him so searchingly before. He wasn't sure that he liked it. "What?"

"You smile when you sleep," she said, tapping her chin. "Or you were just now. It's kind of sweet."

"What?!"

"It is! I didn't know anyone actually did that. But you were."

He rolled onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes, utterly humiliated; he'd rather she think him tough or strong than sweet. "Ugh."

"What's 'ugh' about being sweet?" she wanted to know, leaning back over him again. "Why are you so embarrassed?"

"Because you're embarrassing," he muttered, wishing desperately that the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

"You mean I'm embarrassing you."

"No, I mean  _you're_ embarrassing _."_

"Right,” she said, her tone heavy with sarcasm. It was obvious she knew that he was full of shit, after less than a day in his company. The realization normally would have startled him, or filled him with customary wariness.

Auruo groped desperately for a change in subject, before she peeled all his layers away with her intensity. “Are you from around here?” he asked, chancing a sidelong glance at her; sunlight dripped through the gaps in the leaves, catching gold in her hair. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“Would you have?”

“Yeah. Everybody knows everybody here.”

“How is that possible? Karanese is so big.”

“It’s not so hard when everybody’s crammed tight in the same cage,” Auruo muttered sourly. “You’ll get all kinds poking their noses in your business. You might not know all their names, but you’d’ve seen their faces before.”

She bit her lip; disappointed, perhaps, or unsure. “My father and I moved here almost a week ago from Callet village.”

“Really? _Here_?”

“Why do you say it like that? Karanese is so interesting.” Her tone had become dreamy, her expression eager as daylight. “There’s so much to do. On our way in I counted fifteen taverns and two playhouses. We didn’t even have one in our village – the best we got was a wandering troupe a couple times a year, and they always put on the same plays. And the factory for the blades! We passed that on the way in too, you could hear the forges from outside. And the food – there’s food from all over here, especially in North Market. Did you know they have a whole row of stalls where the owners make dishes from the northern and western districts, and – and the bread! There was this dark bread with nuts and dried fruit baked in, since you know, they have a lot of cold work up there, so close to the mountains, they have to pack as much food into as little space as possible. And sweetbreads too, glazed and frosted. One of them made this flaky kind of bread with a buttery crust, and actual bits of chocolate inside. I’ve never had anything so delicious. You must have had some.”

“Nah. That stuff’s expensive, you know.”

She froze, glancing at him warily. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think–“

“Ah, c’mon. I got a job tomorrow, I’ll be able to save up for one if I want.”

“Had you been to the North Market before?”

“No … no way. I’m kinda surprised to hear you did, to be honest. That’s a rough part of town.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Petra said. “It’s as simple as staying out of people’s way.”

“It’s not that simple at all. This ain’t some little village, there are shitheads around. You shouldn’t be wandering alone,” Auruo insisted, a flicker of fear twisting his gut.

She tapped her chin, and before long a smile bloomed over her features, as if it always lurked beneath the surface of her expression. “Would you wander with me?”

He felt his face grow warm. “Me being there isn’t gonna make much of a difference if someone wanted to rob you, y’know.”  

“I bet it would. I bet you could look forbidding if you wanted.”

“What’s that gonna matter to a grown man.”

“Bet you’re faster than a grown man, though. You need to try that flaky chocolate bread, you have to try it at least once in your life. And you have to try it in the North Market, otherwise the total flavor is lost.”

“How’s that.”

“Things taste different depending on where you are. An apple tastes different in autumn, when you’re standing right beneath the tree it fell from.”

“Yeah … like dirt, probably.”

She shot him an irritated look. “You have to have the chocolate bread while the baker watches for your reaction, with the sound of ships and barkers and the smell of the river a few streets away.”

He couldn’t help but be charmed by the picture she painted; he’d lived here his whole life and never taken such delight in any of these facts, maybe because he’d always been aware of them, and even more aware of their inaccessibility. “What’s with all the bread?”

“Oh, my father – he opened a bakery in East Market. It’s our business,” she said eagerly. “I like picking up different recipes whenever we go, or making up something interesting when we can’t find any.”

“Are you any good?”

“I’m alright,” she said with a modest shrug.

“Your dad must be good if he got a shop anywhere around here; it’s not like there’s much space to go around.  Though the East Market’s probably the worst one, so maybe that’s why.” He blanched. “Not to insult your dad or anything. Just saying there are merchants who petition their whole life for a bite at the Central Market, it gets real vicious. Some cobbler was murdered last year over it. It’d be something else for some random guy from the country to stroll in and take a spot.”

Petra blinked, eyes wide. “Murdered?”

“Sure,” he said. “I told you. We got that kind of stuff too. It’s a district city, y’know? You get all types.”

“I know people get murdered,” she fired back, a bit of edge to her tone. “I just didn’t think so close to the governor …”

“You know he’s probably got his fingers in that shit,” Auruo said casually; he’d never had an opportunity to play the worldly know-it-all, and now he milked it for all it was worth. “Maybe some of it’s his idea.”

“That’s awful.”

But far from looking terrified, a defiant spark caught in Petra’s eyes, nearly feral in its intensity. Karanese and its dangers were nothing more than a challenge for her; to be met, defeated, and notched on her belt before she moved on. It should have increased his wariness, but you couldn’t increase something that wasn’t there; he was fascinated, compelled, eager to please her, eager to be interesting.

~

Petra tucked her skirt over her knees and peered over at Auruo. She had only thought it was sweet that someone could be so at peace while they slept; for her, it was largely foreign – she could hardly stay still long enough to allow it. His left eye was a little swollen, and the corner of his mouth had scabbed over, yet despite it he had seemed so serene, especially considering since she met him, his expression was more given to self-conscious frowning and scowls. 

He fidgeted, and she realized he was uncomfortable with her staring again, so she asked the first thing that popped into her head. "You said you have to start working tomorrow?"

She regretted the question almost as soon as the words left her mouth, for he visibly deflated. "Yeah," he said, clearly trying not to sound as gutted as he felt.

"So that means it's your birthday today!" she said brightly. "Why didn't you say anything? And don't tell me you don't know."

“Because it means I have to get a trade instead of doing what I really want to do.”

She tilted her head. “What do you really want to do?”

He looked at her searchingly, his brows low over troubled eyes, weighing her as worthy for this secret, and she realized this was probably what had been upsetting him – the bullies and his soggy shoes had been additional worries. After a long moment, he sighed. "I want to join the Survey Corps," he said, pulling at a fraying shoelace. "I'm twelve, so I could. Join the Cadets first, I mean, and then the Survey Corps. But my mom doesn't want me to, and my dad doesn't want to do anything that would upset my mom." He fell silent for a moment. "We’ve been fighting about it for months now."

Her smile faded. "You … want to join the Survey Corps?"

"Yeah." He bit his lip so fiercely it started to bleed again. "Mom thinks I'd just be killed. Well, sure I’d be killed _now_. Right now I wouldn't be able to do much. But you're in training for three years, and by the time you're out you have the tools to stay alive." He made an uneasy face. "Theoretically, anyway."

She realized she was staring again, and forced herself to blink. "I'm sorry, I just … I didn't know anyone else who actually wanted to join the Survey Corps."

He looked up at her. "'Else'?”

" _Yes_!" she said, her voice dropping to a fervent hush. Her first week exploring her new home, and the first person she met was not only around her age, funny, and nice, but also shared her dearest ambition. She couldn't stop herself from taking his hand and squeezing it. "I can't believe it. I was – oh, I don't know. I thought I'd have to go off to training myself next year and watch most of my classmates go off to Garrison, but  _here you are!"_

He didn't pull his hand away, but she felt him tense. "You missed the part where I can't go because my parents think I'll die as soon as I take a step outside the Walls." He shrugged, his uneasy expression deepening. "I guess I can't totally blame them. And we do need the money from a steady job now. I know I get a stipend when I'm an actual soldier, but not while you're in training. And I don't mind helping out, but …" He sighed, the hangdog boy again.

"But you have a few years to convince them," she said, trying to get him to smile. "Maybe they'll change their minds. I mean, right now you're …"

"Weak," he said, scowling at her.

" _Young,"_ she corrected gently. "Maybe it'll be easier for them to believe you'll be okay when you're a little older. You know, taller."

"Assuming that ever happens."

"Auruo," she said. "Just be patient. You don't know how things will work out."

"Or _if_ they will."

She glared at him. "Are you determined to be upset about this or something?"

"Maybe," he muttered, but his lips twitched against a smile, and she knew she'd won him over. "Maybe you'll be a big shot in the Survey Corps by the time I'm done with my training."

"Ha! That's likely," she said, rolling her eyes, but the longer she thought about it the more bereft she felt. She barely knew this boy, but already she didn’t want to leave him behind. Who could say why? If she had to put a name on it, she just had a feeling about him, and it was the kind that are foolish to ignore. "Or  I could just enroll when you do."

He stared at her with wide eyes, and the shock in his expression was equal parts dear and sad. "You'd do that?"

"Sure, why not?" she said, beaming. "We could look out for each other."

Slowly, the preoccupied sadness in his expression faded, replaced by a warmth she could not exactly put her finger on. "It's a deal, then," he said. He made to extend his hand for her to shake when he realized that it was still caught between hers. She'd been so caught up in the idea that she'd nearly forgotten herself; his hand was very warm, and the weight of it solid and comforting. He looked down, blushing furiously. She bit her tongue to keep from laughing, because she didn't want him to think she was laughing at him (though she was), and his preoccupied nervousness was inexplicably endearing. She squeezed his hand one more time for good measure before sparing him.

He cleared his throat. "Probably going to be me looking out for you more than you looking out for me," he said, shooting her a smug grin.

“Is that right.”

“Sure. You just made the best deal of your life, y’know. You’ll be getting the most out of it.”

“What a jerk,” she said, struggling against an answering smile. “I just met you and it’s already been more of me looking out for you than the other way around.”

“That doesn’t count, c’mon! I was outnumbered. Also, you didn’t actually fight them.”

“Yeah, you’re right. All I had to do was yell at them, and they ran away!”

It was his turn to swallow his grin. “Still doesn’t count.”

A sly notion took hold; a trick that would only work once. She affected as much innocence as she could muster. “How about we settle it with a race?”

“A race, huh? Y’know, I’m pretty fast.”

"We'll see."

They made an official outing of it. He drew a solid line through the grass with his foot, and they took their places behind it. She shot him her most intense glare, and he matched it perfectly. He drew his thumb across his throat in a threatening gesture. She bared her teeth.

“Ready …” he started, waiting.

“Go!”

She pulled ahead almost instantly, shouting in triumph as he slowly fell behind, sputtering in disbelief. He could have had no way of knowing, but when she wanted to be, she was  _fast_. She ran full tilt, the warm spring air whipping her braid behind her, her cardigan catching in the wind, and still she was faster than him, much faster. And for a moment she thought that she no longer touched the ground, but had instead sprouted wings and flown to the tree. She believed that she could keep going, pick up and soar over the Walls, over the whole world.

~

Auruo watched her sprint ahead, and a fire lit in him. He pushed his scrawny legs faster than they'd ever gone before, forced his body forward until he'd nearly caught her, until he could almost reach out and brush his fingers against the end of her braid. But suddenly she was off again, sprinting the last leg of the race in the blink of an eye, and he realized that she'd only been toying with him. She was faster than anything he'd ever seen in his life.

When he finally caught up to her, he was so winded he couldn't speak, which seemed to amuse her even more. "Guess you're not as fast as you thought," she said airily. He could only stare.  _She_  wasn't winded at all!

"How … how are you so  _fast?"_ he gasped.

"I've always been." She said this with neither pride nor humility but instead with an unassuming shrug, as if it were nothing more than simple truth. "You know, you put up a fair effort, Auruo. Maybe next time you'll catch me."

"Don't … patronize me," he spluttered, and he keeled right over, collapsing spread eagle onto his back under the wide branches of the tree. She knelt at his side, peering down at him with a knowing smile.

"That was a good race," she said, satisfied. "I didn't have anyone to race with back home."

"Probably because they all figured out it wasn't a fair fight," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Probably," she agreed.

He looked up at her; the shade of the tree muted the light in her eyes, yet still she shone. She gave him a moment to catch his breath, and then held out her hand to help him to his feet. He thought she might want to challenge him to a race back, but instead she folded her hands behind her and began the walk at an easy pace. Maybe she was being thoughtful to him, or maybe she didn't want to go home yet. He was fine with either one.

"Why do you want to join the Survey Corps?" he asked, looking over at her.

She bit her lip, mulling it over. "You know how the Walls make everyone feel safe, right?" she said, unconsciously gesturing as he spoke. "But I get so frustrated look at them. Seeing them there and knowing the Titans are on the other side. I don't really know how to explain it."

"I know what you mean, though," he said quietly. "I've always felt the same."

She nodded, encouraged. "I heard that before the Titans, there used to be these places where people could go to learn whatever they wanted. They didn't have to choose between work and the army; they just … read books and wrote about them! For years!"

"Like religious books?"

"If they wanted. Or any kind of book, about anything!"

His eyes were wide; imagining a world so bright as to be unbelievable. "My dad said that before the Titans came, people were never hungry. There was enough for everyone."

"It's so hard to imagine," she said, looking into the distance, where he saw a shadow of the Wall Rose, fifty meters tall and supposedly impenetrable. "But that's why I want to join the Survey Corps. Because they're the only ones actually trying to do something about the Titans."

"Right," he said fervently. "Exactly,"

He studied her, watching as she pulled absently at the end of her braid, her gaze far away. Perhaps she imagined herself as he had earlier that day – soaring through the air, two blades in her hands, quick as a streak of lightning. He thought of how she'd stood up to Gerrard and his dumb friends, a wild fire in her eyes, her fists clenched, and he knew; she was a warrior already.

"Your dad’s okay with you joining the Survey Corps?" he asked after a moment.

The corners of her mouth turned down into a heartbreaking frown. "He's not exactly fond of the idea."

He waited for her to elaborate but she did not. He found it strange, considering up to this moment she'd been effusive and eager. But if anyone understood the need to keep things unsaid, it was Auruo. So he blurted the first thing he could think of that might make her smile.

"Hey, look," he said, stooping to pick up his vest and shoes before facing her. "It's my birthday, and my mom made some cake. Had to scrounge for a few months for the ingredients, but it's worth it, trust me. You could have some of my piece." He cleared his throat. "I mean, if you want."

"You wouldn't mind?" she asked him. "It  _is_  your birthday. You only get cake once a year."

"Nah, I don't mind," he said easily. Truthfully, this morning he'd been looking forward to savoring every bite of that cake – his mother was a famously good cook, and when given proper ingredients she could whip up food that was more like magic than sustenance. But at that moment he knew it would feel better to share that cake with Petra than it would to eat a hundred cakes. "Seriously, the cake she made last year was so good; it had chopped up pieces of walnuts inside, and she made this frosting from scratch, and—" He trailed off, gesturing uselessly. "Just trust me, it's great."

And finally she did smile. "You convinced me."

They were even more careful crossing the river this time. Petra gripped his hand tightly as they stepped from stone to stone. At the middle of the river he felt her stumble, and before she could tip over, he'd pulled her quickly to him, bracing himself as best as he could with freezing water rushing around his ankles. She squeaked, clutching him as she regained her balance. "It's even colder now," she said, shivering.

He didn't speak until they'd stepped onto the opposite bank, and only then did he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "This would be a lot less stressful if you knew how to swim," he said, slipping back into his shoes. "I could teach you, when it gets a little warmer."

"Ah … yeah! Sometime later," she said, looking away nervously. "I thought you were going to teach me to skip rocks first."

"I can do both, believe it or not," he said with a grin. "Seems to me like your education so far has been miserable. You don't know how to do anything interesting."

“I know how to run faster than you. Seems to me like that's plenty interesting."

He tried to scowl, but it came out a grudging laugh instead. He wouldn't argue that one.

It wasn't a long trek to his home. He lived in one of the poorest, most cramped neighborhoods, a winding row of flophouses hugging the edge of the east Wall.  It was common to find four or more families to each house, the rooms partitioned off as equally as possible. His family claimed the ground floor and shared two rooms, with access to water pump in the alley next door. For now, it was all right; just him, his parents, and his three-year old brother. In a few months, though, it would become even more cramped.

Suddenly, the prospect of leading Petra through his squalid neighborhood and introducing her to his family curdled his gut. His means were embarrassingly poor. His father would be more or less agreeable – his worst crime was laughing at the inappropriate things his wife said - but his mother never met a silence she didn't like to fill with embarrassing detail. To say nothing of Benoit, who seemed keen to break the record for possible days spent wailing at the top of his lungs and fussing over nothing.

"Look, I should probably warn you," he said, slowing as they entered his neighborhood and the familiar cacophony overtook them. "My brother's a fussy brat. My mom is probably going to be really nosy. I'm not really sure what my dad will do, but it'll probably be something." He pinched his brow and groaned. "This was a bad idea."

She elbowed him. "You got me all sold on the idea of cake and now you're going to take it away. What kind of friend are you?"

"One you'll probably regret making in a minute," he muttered.

"Oh, hush. I want to meet your family. I bet they're not all that bad."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he said with a shrug, trying to pass it off as nonchalantly as possible, but beneath that he was starting to panic. He should have just kept his mouth shut, then brought her a piece of cake tomorrow. Same gesture, only without the humiliation.

His mother was sweeping a pile of dust off the stoop when she caught sight of him. "Auruo!" she exclaimed, rushing forward. "Where have you been all day? We were worried!" He had prayed she wouldn't notice his puffy eye and busted lip, but clearly that prayer had fallen on deaf ears; as soon as he was close enough, she caught his face between her warm hands, turning it back and forth to get a better look at his injuries. "What happened to your face?"

"Mom …" he muttered, struggling to break out of her grasp. "It's nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing to me. Did you get into another fight?"

" _No,"_ he said, wriggling free. "Just drop it."

She tutted, clearly not convinced. "So where have you been?"

He scuffed the ground, ready to admit that he'd spent the day doing absolutely nothing she would find important when Petra stepped forward. "I'm sorry, Mrs. …"

"Bossard," he whispered.

"Mrs. Bossard. I'm Petra Ral, and it's my fault. I've just moved here and Auruo was kind enough to show me around," she said, with a charmingly self-effacing smile.

His mother gaped. "Auruo did this?  _My_ son?" She felt his forehead with the back of her hand. "Are you sick?"

He stared at her disbelievingly. " _Mom."_

Well, this was an auspicious start. Less than a minute into introductions and already his mother had commenced with the ritual humiliations. For her part, his mother smiled and held out her hand for Petra to shake. "It's nice to meet you, sweetheart. And even nicer to hear that my son is capable of being pleasant to strangers."

" _Mom!"_

His mother ignored him. "We were just about to have some of Auruo's birthday cake."

"That's what he said. He was nice enough to offer to split his piece with me."

He could see the wheels turning in his mother's head, and knew what she'd say even before she opened her mouth. " _Auruo?_ Offer to share? Now I know he must be sick."

" _MOM!"_

Petra looked like her own birthday had come early; he'd never seen a person be so thrilled with their circumstances. He wasn't sure if he liked that those circumstances were his utter disgrace. His mother smiled too, probably because her favorite pastime was embarrassing him. "Come on in, sweetheart. Forgive the mess."

Before Petra followed his mother inside, she looked over her shoulder at him, and he knew that he would always remember this exact moment – her braid spilling over her shoulder, her eyes so full of light that he could hardly bear it. And something gave him pause; that it wasn't the teasing that had made her so happy, but that she'd been welcomed so wholly, that his mother had already taken to calling her 'sweetheart', and for a girl who avoided mention of her own mother, this probably meant more to her than he'd ever understand.

Everything inside was situated for his birthday; the humble cake sat on the table, covered with dark glaze and an actual strawberry (who knew where or how his mother had come by it). His father sat at the table with Benoit in his lap, whose wails had thankfully given way to pitiful whimpering and sniffling. He looked up at Auruo with a trembling chin, and guilt overcame him.

Petra stepped forward. "Mr. Bossard, I'm –"

"Petra, I heard," said his father with a smile. "It's nice to meet you."

Auruo braced himself for the inevitable crack at his expense, but his father only continued to smile, standing and depositing Benoit in Auruo's arms so that he could shake her hand.

He watched his parents confer in the corner, feeling unbearably awkward. Already, Benoit was winding up again – his big, brown eyes filling with anxious tears. Panicked, Auruo tried bouncing the toddler on his knee a little. "Come on, Benoit," he said desperately. "It's okay."

But it was no use; either he was terrible with kids, or Benoit was a particularly disagreeable one. Probably both. Before Benoit could let loose one of his patented ear-shattering howls, Petra smiled and held out her hands. "Can I try?"

He stared at her. "W-what?"

"I used to look after some of the younger kids in my old village. I know what I'm doing."

"He's not exactly your average problem child," Auruo said, then felt guilty again for saying it about his own brother.

"Just trust me for a minute," she said, shooting him an irritated look. 

Auruo didn't know about that. Petra probably thought she was pretty good with kids, but after pitting her skills against the tantruming will of his brother and failing, she'd probably never want anything to do with him and his family again. And selfishly, this was the last thing he wanted. But unable to think of any believable protest, he grudgingly passed his brother into Petra's hands.

She sat Benoit on her lap facing her, and took one of his little hands in hers. Almost instantly Benoit fell silent, his eyes going wide as he took in this stranger, deciding what to make of her. "Hi there," she said, earnest without being cloying. "Oh, you are sweet."

Auruo started, completely agog. He didn't think he'd ever heard anyone call Benoit sweet, except for his mother, probably, and since it was the province of mothers to be blind on the subject of their children, her opinion did not count.

Benoit reached out with one chubby fist, making a little sound. And somehow, she seemed to know what he wanted. "You like my hair, huh?" she asked him, before flipping her braid over her shoulder so he could grab it. And grab he did, twisting the beautiful strands up in his sticky fingers. Auruo waited for the inevitable yank, but it seemed as if his brother was merely content to touch what he found so interesting.

Then, a miracle: Benoit giggled.

Auruo stared. His mother stared. His father stared. No one said anything, the three of them convinced that they'd only imagined the sound. But Benoit giggled again, and Petra shot Auruo a look as if to say  _'And you doubted me.'_

"It's a miracle," his father teased.

"You must have a way with children."

Petra shrugged modestly. "He's very cute. Not so hard to have a way with a sweet baby, is it?" she said, and Benoit grinned, yanking on her braid hard enough to make her wince.

"Don't let this one out of your sight, Auruo," his father said with a wink. "She's magic."

And there it was; his father, the wildcard. He let his head thunk on the table in humiliated despair.  _I'm going to marry her,_ he thought.  _And they're not invited._

~

Later, he and Petra sat on the stoop with their cake. Outside the sky was a vivid red orange, and the clouds above their heads were streaked with purple. He couldn't see the horizon from this far in the city, but he imagined it was spectacular. On a day with good weather and clear skies, he decided he'd take her to their spot by the racing tree, and stay until it was dark, until the sunset gave way to stars.

"So you've spent all day talking up this cake," Petra said, her fork poised for a bite. "Let's see if it lives up to your boasting."

"It was hardly all day," he retorted. "And you be careful. There’s no slandering sweets around here."

Petra smirked and shook her head. He watched as she took a bite, and he was not disappointed; her eyes widened, and she lifted her fingers to her mouth. "It's amazing," she whispered. "What's  _in this?"_

"Magic!" his father called from the open window.

His mother laughed. "Not telling."

"I warned you," Auruo said, grinning.

She did not reply, instead taking another huge bite of the cake, and Auruo quickly followed suit. In almost no time at all their plates were empty, picked clean of even the smallest crumbs. And she was right; it was amazing.

"I always try to eat it slow," he said wistfully. "Ah, well. There's always next year."

They were quiet a long time, watching as people walked home from work, merchants packing up their stalls, young children playing in the alleys and square. He looked at Petra from the corner of his eye, studying the way the sunset caught in her hair and made it look like fire, the small, content smile that curled her lips. He didn't want to ask when he could see her again _,_ though it seemed as if his entire body had become a conduit for that question, positively straining with the need to ask it and learn the answer. But fear stopped him – fear that she would say no, that her earlier offer of wandering together had been insincere; or worse, perhaps that everything that had happened today had been a dream.

"I probably should get back home," she said as she got to her feet. He clambered after her, stumbling on the stoop in his haste. "I told my father I'd be home by sundown."

"Do you know how to get home from here?" he asked.

"Sure. It's not too far from your house, actually," she said, brightening.

"All right," he mumbled.

"Thanks again for the cake," she said as she handed him her empty plate.

"Ah … it's not a big deal," he said, reddening. "Don't mention it." 

"And for everything else."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay." 

She looked equal parts frustrated and soft in that moment, and he had a wild, dizzying thought; that perhaps she could read his mind, that she could hear him screaming this half-insane mantra over and over again in his thoughts, and that she now found him as ridiculous as he'd always found himself. But instead of leaving without another word, she smiled. "When can we go wandering?”

“Uh –“

"You don't work on the last day of the week, do you?"

He shook his head.

"Then I'll wait by the river for you."

He nodded dumbly. "Okay."

He watched her leave, her fire-caught braid bouncing between her shoulders with each light step, her arms swaying at her sides. He committed this to his memory, too; how she looked exactly in this moment. Maybe a little flustered, but mostly happy – just as happy as he was that she had found him, that they had found one another. Before she rounded the corner she turned and waved to him, and gave him a smile that managed to be open and a little shy at once, a smile that was as bright as sunlight.

"What a nice girl," his mother said behind him. Auruo hadn't even noticed she was there.

"I'm going to marry her," he said aloud.

His mother had heard only one similar proclamation from him – when he'd informed the room at large that he intended to join the Survey Corps. "Oh, Auruo," she sighed, ruffling his hair. "You can't know that about someone you just met."

 _But I can,_ he thought, watching the place where Petra had disappeared.  _I do know._

 


	3. Chapter 3

It was the longest week of Auruo’s life.

He woke before sunrise every morning and trudged up the streets to the carts, which shuttled them to the factory, where he worked alongside his father from dawn until dusk. He shoveled coal until he felt as if his arms would rip from their sockets, until his back ached and his feet ached, and every breath was like pushing a boulder up a hill. He would return home almost too tired to eat, and fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

The foreman hadn’t been impressed with him. He scowled at Auruo’s skinny arms and tutted once before assigning him to forge six. “Do your work and don’t screw around,” he had said, pushing a shovel and belt into Auruo’s chest. “These blades are the only things that keep our soldiers alive against the Titans. Anyone fucks up around here, they’re going to get someone killed.”

Auruo didn’t need to be told twice. He hated the work because it was monotonous and exhausting, and the mill itself was blisteringly hot, but he did his best from the moment he arrived to the moment he left. He thought about the soldiers who would use these blades as he worked. How many would languish in their cases, snug on the hip of a Garrison soldier, who were prone to spending their time on duty drinking and messing around? How many would go to the Scouting Legion, who went through blades like meals, where the only things standing between them and an inglorious end in the gut of a Titan were two quick, deep cuts?

He often thought of Petra. The shimmering of the forge would remind him of her hair, and the way it had looked when touched by sunlight. He remembered the river, skipping over stones and the trust in the way she’d held his hand. He saw her streaking through a green field, laughing from the sheer delight that speed and freedom afforded her. He thought of her smile, her stubbornness, her bravery, her temper. How easy it had been to adore her, even from that first moment, when she’d chased off three kids nearly twice her size and dabbed as his bloody lip, biting her own in sympathy.

At night, in those last moments before sleep pulled him under, he lay on his back with one arm cradling his head and looked out the window, up at the sky resplendent with stars. He counted down the hours to Sunday. While his limbs thrummed with ache and exhaustion, he thought of a sunlit day that he didn’t have to spend inside a sweltering forge, one he could instead enjoy outside with the most incredible person he’d ever met.

~

It was the longest week of Petra’s life.

She was not a passive person – she often zipped from one thing to another especially when she felt melancholy or sad– so threw herself into her work and studies. She swept and cleaned and scrubbed, managed the till when her father was occupied, supervised the rising loaves with a discerning eye. Only when her chores were finished did she sneak out to explore the district. She studied every inch of the neighborhood, spoke with merchants and befriended the mousers, including a gorgeous calico female that she decided to call Calliope.

She patrolled nervous circles around Auruo’s house. Not that she was afraid of him – the complete opposite was true, in fact – but she  _was_  afraid of wearing out her welcome. She knew that he and his father worked at the steel mill and that it wouldn’t really be possible for them to see each other during the work week, but she couldn’t stop herself -- she was so excited to see him again that she half-skipped through the streets to meet him on the way home.

She waited, half-hidden in an alley, watching as Auruo and his father walked down the street. She’d been about to reveal herself when she stopped, the excited greeting halfway out of her mouth. Auruo looked dead on his feet. Each step he took seemed to tax him beyond his ability to bear. His shoulders slumped – not from shame but exhaustion. His eyes were heavy, lids fluttering down. She watched as his father rested one gentle hand on his back, and instead of shaking it away, Auruo leaned into his side.

“Well done today,” his father said.

Auruo’s reply was unintelligible. But he leaned closer, and just as his lunch pail was about to slip from his negligent fingers his father gently pried it loose, holding their front door open.

She drew back into the shadow of the alley. They hadn’t seen her, which was probably for the best. She was torn by warring impulses – the uncomfortably visceral need to fold Auruo in her arms, and the more self-conscious fear of imposing on them or scaring them off with her intensity. For the first time, she did not hurry off to the next task or try to fill her time with distraction; instead, she stood in the alley, feeling lost and alone.

She didn’t actively decide to snoop -- because it was wrong and weird and  _creepy,_ and she was better than that _–_ but in her inaction she found herself peering through their window, from the safe distance of her spot in the alley. Auruo sat at their table, seemingly contemplating a plate of hot food. His parents spoke in voices too low to be heard from so far away. Auruo wobbled. His fork slipped from his fingers. He pitched forward and slumped onto the table, only narrowly missing his plate of dinner.

“Auruo!” his mother exclaimed.

To her surprise, his father spoke in a language she couldn’t understand, and his mother replied in the same tongue, her voice tearful.  It had none of the rough vitality of German, none of its boldness. It was a language that flowed, interlaced – each word seemed to touch the one before it, a sentence holding hands.

Carefully, the Bossards saw to their son. His mother cleared away the untouched food and his father swept Auruo into his arms, bearing him further into the house and presumably to bed. She thought of Auruo curled on his side with blankets strewn about, sleeping the heavy sleep of laborers, his thin chest rising and falling at a slow, peaceful pace, and an odd feeling curled in her stomach.  _Go home,_ she thought sharply.   _Stop being so weird, weirdo._

She did not return for the rest of the week. Still, somehow, it was painful. She was not a person made for waiting, possessed with none of the requisite steadiness and patience. The promise of exploration with a friend and guide at her side was too tantalizing to resist thinking about, and she indulged in the eager daydream whenever business at the bakery grew slow, leaning on the broom handle and gazing out the window, too excited to pretend to be anything else.

 ~

Auruo barely slept. He spent the night tossing and turning, until he was so twisted up in his blankets that he couldn’t move. He thought of Petra, wondering if she’d be waiting at the river or if it was all some kind of joke. It probably was, he counseled himself.  _Don’t get your hopes up._ But every time he attempted to lay out the situation in cold, logical lines, he would remember her smile and hope would fill him again.

Finally, a few minutes before daybreak he could not keep himself in bed a minute longer. He dressed so quickly that tripped over his pants and stumbled, catching himself against the wall only at the last minute. He yanked his shirt over his head too quickly and got stuck, cursing blue murder as he tried to disentangle himself.  _Better I get all this clumsy crap out of the way now,_ he thought, scowling.

Suitably dressed, he plucked a breakfast roll off the table and shoved it into his mouth. His mother didn’t even bat an eye, waving a spoonful of mush in front of Benoit’s face. “Where are you off to so early?”

“The river,” he said without bothering to swallow.

“Going to see Petra?” she asked, arching a brow.

He shrugged. “Dunno.” 

“Maybe at least come back for lunch?!” she called to his retreating back.

But he was already gone, running as fast as he could down the street, through the empty market, so fast that a flock of birds perched on the center square fountain scattered around him in a flurry of wings. He knew he was being foolish, that likely she’d show up sometime in the afternoon (if she did at all), and he’d spend the whole morning being simultaneously stressed, exhausted, and too wired to sleep. But he couldn’t go back home now.

His panic had nothing to do with her personally. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her to keep her word. It was more that he couldn’t imagine being as important to her as she was to him.

He saw the river first, the surface catching fractals of the sunrise. And he hated that even though he’d spent the whole week coaching himself not to get his hopes up, he’d gone and done exactly that, so when he saw nothing by that river he felt like he’d been kicked in the ribs by a thousand Gerrards, each wearing boots made of steel.

“Auruo!”

He turned just as a bright auburn blur crashed into his chest and threw its arms around him. A stunned heartbeat passed before he realized that the blur had been Petra, hugging him so tightly that he couldn’t breathe. He flushed, awkwardly holding his arms out so that they wouldn’t accidentally touch her. “H-hi,” he managed.

She looked up at him, and her amber eyes were as bright as her smile. “I missed you!”

 ~

It was only after she’d thrown herself at Auruo that she remembered he was easily embarrassed and awkward, and so  _endearing_ it made her chest hurt, and that springing a hug on him without giving him a second to breathe or prepare was asking for one passed out twelve-year old boy at her feet. But she said “I missed you!” and that seemed to be the right thing, because she felt him slowly relax, one arm folding into the shape of a mutual embrace, his left hand lightly resting on her back.

Of course, when she pulled away she saw that his face was a vibrant red. He cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said to his shoes.

 _You’re freaking him out,_ she scolded herself.  _Calm down._

“I’ve wanted to talk to you all week!” she blurted.

His blush deepened, and she chewed her lower lip in dismay.  _Total, utter failure._ She didn’t know how to curb that intensity for the things and people she cared about. She couldn’t keep how strongly she felt at the back of her throat, burgeoning endlessly; its only place was outward, in truth and daylight.

“Y-yeah,” he said. Before the magnitude of her shame could overwhelm her, he said the best thing he could have possibly said in that moment: “Me too. I mean, I’ve wanted to talk to you all week. Not talk to myself.” He trailed off, now so red that she worried he really might faint.  

“Come on,” she said, tugging his sleeve. “You said you were going to wander with me.”

“You were serious about that?”

“Of course.” It made her a little sad that he never seemed to believe her, that his reaction to interest or kindness was to doubt its sincerity. She took his hand and gave his fingers a squeeze. “I want to get you something.”  

The gesture succeeded in stunning him into silence, at least for a moment; he allowed himself to be pulled along, watching her with wide, slightly unfocused eyes. “W-why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’? Because I want to do something nice for you.”

He blinked. “Wh-“

“Because. You did something nice for me last week.”

His toe caught on a loose cobblestone, and he stumbled forward. “You – geez. You don’t have to do anything, it was just some stupid cake.”

“It was amazing cake, and it was the only sweet you get for the whole year and you shared it with me,” she said firmly, watching color rush to his cheeks. “So I’m going to return the favor. We’re going to get some of that flaky bread.”

“I dunno …”

“Besides,” she said, tossing her braid over her shoulder. “I need to eat it a few more times before I try to make my own version.”

“I think I’d rather just have your version.”

“You will,” she said, biting back the smile.

It took them most of the morning to reach the north side of the river street; there was some kind of spring festival in the eastern middle neighborhoods, its participants bedecked in garlands and flowers and cloaked in sweet smelling smoke, and the attending Garrison soldiers had closed off the affected streets to keep from disturbing the flow of business in the rest of the city. There were families, mothers with children, obstreperous urchins racing underfoot, a shepherd guiding a flock of sheep through the back streets, barkers peddling their wares: Petra drank it all in with eyes wide. There was too much to see, too much to experience; far more than she’d ever known before.

But this was nothing like wandering alone; now, Auruo would lean over and whisper its history and secrets, framing whatever wonder with his hands – “see those alehouses, across the street? They’re owned by brothers that hate each other, see they’re always trying to outsell the other one.” “See that guy with the dingy hat? He’s got one lousy half-acre of farmland and thinks it makes him hot shit, though he can barely pull a yearly crop, he’s always telling the laundresses to mind his colors doesn’t she know how important he is?”

But when they arrived at the riverfront, he hesitated and gave her a nervous once over. “This is a bad idea.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You look too … nice.”

Her temper reared. “What’s that supposed to mean!”

“Will you calm down! Geez; anyone else’d take it for a compliment.”

She glared at him. “Not if you said it to them like that. Like I smell.”

“I just meant you look like you have money,” he said, frowning – untouched by her irritation. “Too put together. Nice, like I said. Someone’s gonna make trouble.”

His unnecessary fretting was starting to annoy her; she looked about the same as he did, except her shoes were a little newer. “I think you’re overreacting. It can’t be bad enough that someone would rob a _child_ in broad daylight.”

“How would you know? You’ve only lived here a few weeks.”

 “Look, Auruo, last week I came here _alone_ and no one gave me any trouble,” she said with a superior smirk. “I think you’re underestimating your fellow citizen.”

“Are you kidding me!”

“Keep your voice down! Honestly. What am I supposed to do about looking ‘too nice’, exactly?”

He looked at her unhappily. “I dunno, just … this place freaks me out,” he admitted in a whisper, and drew closer. “At my old schoolhouse, there was this girl who used to come here to pickpocket, and one day out of nowhere she just stopped showing up to school and I’m telling you, it’s because of this place, someone nabbed her or something.”

Unease gripped her. “You don’t know that for sure. Maybe she moved away.”

Auruo shook his head. “Where? And with who? She didn’t have anyone ... she was one of those charity cases the schools are s’posed to take on.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

He didn’t seem to hear her, caught as he was in his anxious speculation: “And there’s this gang that’s got footholds in every district, they kill whoever they don’t like and no one can touch them ‘cause the governor’s in on it too, and the sailors and oarsman, they act like animals ‘cause they don’t actually live here, they’re always moving around, they’re gone by the time someone files a complaint or reports a crime. And –“

“Look,” she said, gripping his shoulders and turning him forcefully toward the riverfront. “Do you see the soldiers?”

“Yeah …”

“So, calm down. No one is going to try anything in front of the military.”

He shook his head again, but she seemed to have exhausted his protests for he followed without another word, hovering anxiously at her shoulder.

At first, the riverfront was no more dangerous than she expected, populated with the expected mix of merchants, sailors, soldiers, civilians; a chattering gamut, connected by their interlacing voices, too many to ever count. The docks were overcrowded today, two dozen ships tugging at their moorings, gentle waves lapping at their hulls. Gulls circled overhead and cried for food, and the bracing stench of salted fish filled her nose.

She resisted the urge to grab his hand again; the farther they went down the riverfront the more she was inclined to believe him, and the more essential it became to show no fear, not even the slightest discomfort – no indication that she was anywhere other than where she meant to be. She strode with her shoulders thrown back and chin up, infusing each step with all the purpose she could muster within herself. Auruo, for his part, crept along like a cat anticipating a boot thrown at it.

As they passed in front of a shabby tavern, the doors flew open and a pair of men crashed onto the street, grappling and shouting, aiming wild kicks for exposed areas. Auruo and Petra cringed out of the way only at the last moment, stumbling in their haste. Before they'd managed to escape, one brawler smashed a bottle on the street and brandished it at his foe; lunging before the patrolling soldiers descended onto the fray and wrenched them apart.

“Does your dad know you’re here?” Auruo hissed at her, clutching her arm.

“Shh!”

“I changed my mind, I don’t want flaky bread.”

“Come on, we’re almost there.”

“I can’t believe you came here alone.”

“Auruo.”

“Do you have any survival instinct at all?!”

“The soldiers handled it, didn’t they?!”

They had, though this seemed to come as no comfort to Auruo; his expression twisted in dislike as he watched the soldiers haul the drunkards to their feet. “I guess.”

She wouldn’t be able to convince him to stay much longer, but to her great relief she saw the tiny bakery ahead; clamping her hand around Auruo’s wrist, she hauled him forward, weaving through the churning crowd. She kept her other arm pressed tight against her side, the better to feel her coin purse against her thigh, and ushered them inside before something else could go wrong.

It was nothing like her father’s bakery – instead of buttery sunlight spilling in through high windows and bathing the ovens, dusty beams of light filtered through the grimy glass, leaving the room perpetually streaked with shadow; the bell over the door had none of the cheerful music of her father’s, though twice its impact. Even the bread was different; dark, hard loaves frosted with flour, stacked on shelves and baskets – bread for workers. From the back room came a boisterous voice, booming through the cracks in the walls: “Hold up!”

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Auruo asked, craning around. She understood his confusion; this was a rough store, filled with food for rough people – not the kind of place you’d find a delicate confection.

Before she could reply, the baker came out from the back – a stout woman in her forties, with flour streaked in her pale hair. Her forearms were strong, mottled with burns; if Petra turned over her hands, she would find the same pattern of calluses that marked her father’s. “Ah, it’s you again,” said the baker. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Auruo,” she said, beaming as she pulled him forward. “Can you believe he’s lived in Karanese his whole life and never been here before?”

“Well,” said the baker, lips curling. “This is a pretty rough place for a kid.”

She expected Auruo to agree and shoot her a smug look, pleased to have his opinion confirmed, but he drew back in sudden temper, his expression fulminous. “I live in a rougher neighborhood than this, you old ba – ”

Petra stomped on his foot, _hard_. “Do you have any flaky bread today?” she asked as Auruo wheezed and cursed.

“I might have a bit leftover from this morning,” said the baker, pulling on her chin, and she departed for the storeroom a moment later. They heard her rummaging about for only a few moments before she reemerged, with a basket of the rolls from the morning, their browned crusts muted in the dusty light, each delicate flake as thin as onionskin. “You can put that away,” said the baker, as Petra rummaged about for her coin purse. “I’d’ve given them away to someone else if you didn’t want them.”

“What’s wrong with them,” Auruo said, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Just a little burned,” said the baker, with an easy smile. “I can’t take your money for subpar work.”

“Please, it’s no trouble.” Petra slid a few marks across the counter and plucked two rolls out of the basket, passing one to Auruo. “Thank you.”

The baker smiled and counted the coins, and Petra ran her thumb over the crust, savoring the texture, the flavor soon to come. But she watched only Auruo as he took a bite; his expression shifting from unease to delight, his brows as they twitched up in surprise, his bright eyes, a smile with his mouth full. And it was worth it.

~

It was a little after noon when they left Karanese, weaving through the farming village outside the Wall. They walked alongside the river until they reached the makeshift stone path across, slick with water and moss. She began to remove her shoes, but he stopped her. “Probably easier if you just get on my back,” he said to his feet. “You can hold my shoes.”

“Doesn’t sound easier to me,” she said, arching a brow.

He shifted uncomfortably. “Less stressful. If you fall in, I’ll have fallen in already too, so I can grab you faster.”

And she understood; her inability to swim was stressful to him. He  _worried_ about her. An odd warmth filled her chest, and she couldn’t bite back the smile. “You  _are_ sweet,” she accused delightedly. “I knew it.”

“ _Ugh.”_  He scowled at her. “I just don’t want you to die horribly. Don’t get excited.”

 “Too late.”

He bit his lip, but she could see that he wasn’t nearly as annoyed as he pretended to be. He slipped out of his shoes and passed them to her, and with a little excited hop she clambered onto his back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, laughing a little as he hiked her up. He stumbled once but quickly caught his balance.

“Am I too much?” she asked.

She couldn’t see his face, but she imagined that he was probably scowling again. Maybe even scowling and blushing. “ _No,”_ he said. “You barely weigh anything.”

She didn’t argue, though at that moment she felt inexplicably self-conscious. But without another word, he hitched her up and carefully stepped into the river. She thought that he might wobble and tip over, but he was surprisingly steady for someone so skinny bearing almost twice his weight– she felt that even with the water rushing around his feet, he was firmly rooted to the ground, and she trusted him.

She noticed a few things she hadn’t before, given her new perspective above him -- he had a funny cowlick at the crown of his head, ashy blond hair sweeping sideways, and at the base of his neck, just to the left of the bone, was a solitary freckle. She bit the inside of her cheek.  _It isn’t fair that he’s so adorable._

He stepped onto the opposite bank and she slid from his back, but not before pinching him. “You’d make a good pack mule,” she grinned.

“What a relief,” he said, rolling his eyes. “My life’s aspiration.”

She was about to challenge him to a race when she caught a closer look at him, and the words died in her throat. He had dark circles under his eyes, which had acquired a dull, sleepy edge since last week. Abruptly the happiness at seeing him again after so long withered in her chest, replaced by worry.

He noticed her staring, as always. “What?”

“How was work?” she asked, attempting to swallow her concern.

He shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s all right.”

She was starting to grow accustomed with his impulse to deflect personal inquiry. “You hate it, don’t you?” she said.

He sighed. “Yeah, I hate it.”

They collapsed under the branches of their tree, arms spread eagle, facing the rising sun. “What’s it like?” she asked him.

He said nothing at first, and she watched as a small breeze played with a lock of his messy hair. “Bleak,” he said finally.

It must have been – Auruo wasn’t that effusive a week ago, but his smile had been readier. He hadn’t been so tired. “How do you mean?”

“Just really hot, hard to see properly. You feel like you can’t breathe right, since the air is so thick. I was so tired after only an hour of shoveling – after a whole day I --” He flushed, for some reason ashamed. “I felt like I’d die.” 

“I didn’t know,” she whispered, her throat growing tight.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I heard one of the other stokers talking yesterday – he told me that before the Titans, however many hundreds of years ago that was, they had mills like ours except the steel wasn’t as good. And since there were so many people in the world, they could get away with working them to death.”

“So they don’t do that now?”

“Not as bad,” he said with a heavy sigh. “By that, I mean that the old steel workers had to work every day of the week, sometimes for eighteen hours a day, and they only got one holiday off a year.”

She was aghast. “Only  _one?”_

He nodded. “It would use them up. They’d be old men by the time they were thirty; constantly sick, half dead. You’d see one on the street and think he was twice his age. And they never lasted long.” He pressed his lips together. “It would use them up, and the owners wouldn’t care.”

She struggled to imagine this world without Titans that Auruo described. She’d always thought of it as something pure and good, and the story he’d told her had no place in it. They had no way of knowing for sure – no historical accounts survived, and oral tradition was all that remained. But it had the ring of truth regardless, and it made her hopelessly sad.

“I guess I don’t know what my point is,” he said heavily. “I was thinking about it a lot last night. I was wondering if it’d be any different for me, if there were no Titans and the world was full of billions of people instead of just a few dozen million or so. Keeping us all able to work as long as possible wouldn’t matter, since they could just replace us with more poor people desperate for work. I’d be used up even faster than I will be now, probably dead by twenty instead of thirty.” 

Her eyes abruptly filled with tears. “I didn’t know,” she whispered, and her voice caught. She struggled to compose herself – the last thing she wanted was for him to see her weeping like a baby – but he heard the odd note in her voice anyway.

He lurched upright, his hand moving anxiously. “Ah – geez, Petra. I’m sorry, it’s really not that bad. I’m just complaining. I –“ He trailed off, looking furious with himself. “It’s not a big deal, seriously. Look, my dad started when he was twelve too, that’s just how it goes around here. You’re working at your dad’s place too, it’s just the way it is – ”

Before he could say anything else, she gripped his hand so tightly that she could feel the tendons through his palm, and fixed him with a hard stare, sharp with determination. “You’re not going to be dead by twenty,” she insisted, her voice shaking. “And you won’t be used up. Don’t say it or think it anymore, okay?”

He blinked at her, startled by her intensity. “I – I won’t.”

“Good,” she said. “You’re not going to get used up in the steel mill. You’re going to join the Survey Corps with me; someday, in a few years. Someday soon. And we’re going to fight the Titans together.”

“Alright,” he said quietly, his fingers tightening around her own. “You’re right.”

She fell silent and threw her arms around him, burying her face against his neck. For the first time since they’d met, Auruo did not shift uncomfortably at her touch or look away to hide his blushing. He let her cry and held her exactly as she needed to be held. He smelled like soap and coal smoke, vaguely sharp, like a blade in its scabbard, or the sky when it was about to rain. There was no more comforting smell in the world.

Slowly she regained control of herself, and she disentangled herself from his arms. “Sorry,” she said, wiping her wet face and picking at her shoelace. “The last thing you probably want to do on your day off is spend it with a crying girl.”

“Nah,” he said, scrubbing at his red face. “You could cry on me all day if you wanted and it’d still be better than the mill.” He cleared his throat, eager to change the subject. “What did you do all week?”

She shrugged, fiddling with her shoelace again. “Explored. Baked a lot of bread. Found this really sweet mouser by my house, Calliope – I can introduce you to her later, if you want.”

“Mousers don’t usually like me, but you can try,” he grinned.

Affection gripped her by the heart, nearly stifling the breath from her chest. “I’m glad we met, Auruo,” she said finally.

He blinked. “Where’s this coming from?”

“I don’t know. Just a thought I had right now.” She smiled, scooting closer. “You’re a good friend.”

“Ah, geez …” he said, and predictably his cheeks darkened. “When I’m not making you cry, anyway.”

After that, they did not speak for a long time. They lay back with their arms crossed under their heads and watched the sun peek through the leaves of their tree. It was already warmer than it had been only a week ago; a breeze rustled the branches, casting dancing patterns of shadow and sunlight on the grass.

“I get my wages on Friday,” Auruo said after some time.

“Ooh! That’s exciting!” she said. “What do you think you’ll do with them?”

He watched a flock of birds take flight, soaring overhead until they faded into the distance, no more than specks of dirt against the pale blue. “I was thinking I’d give it all to my parents. You know, money to live on. They say I can keep half of what I earn for myself, though.” He frowned. “I didn’t think we’d be able to manage it.”

“So what will you do with your half?”

He smiled. “I’m going to save it. So that when I join the Survey Corps, I’ll have enough saved up, and things will be easier for them. You know, since they won’t get a stipend until I’m an actual soldier.” He shrugged. “It probably won’t last long, but it’s better than nothing.”

She stared at him, and he noticed. “What?”

“That’s just … very considerate,” she said after a moment.

“Well, it’s the best I can do.” He shrugged. “When I’m a real soldier, I’ll be able to send more.” His smile widened. “New clothes, maybe some spices. Stuff like that. Dad’s had the same pair of shoes since I was born.”

She couldn’t speak.  _You’re the best person I know,_ she thought at this earnest, awkward boy, who she had come upon by chance, who she now couldn’t imagine living without.

As the sun moved slowly over their heads, Auruo drifted. She watched his eyelids grow heavy, his limbs loose. He shook his head a little, attempting to ward away his exhaustion, and it was so endearing that her heart gave a little twist. She knew that he must be tired, and suddenly she wanted to do everything for him. “You can sleep,” she said. “I won’t go anywhere.”

“No, it’s all right,” he said, yawning. “You wanted to introduce me to your cat.”

“We can do that later,” she said, smiling. “Go to sleep.”

He frowned at her. “Why is this so important to you?”

“Because I want you to get your rest!” she retorted. “Don’t be difficult. You know you’re tired.”

Grudgingly, he acquiesced. “Don’t let me sleep too long,” he said.

“I won’t.”

Gradually, he relaxed. His breathing slowed, his limbs went loose. He curled onto his side, cradling his head in his arms. She never thought she’d see such a thing; a person given to tension and anxiety slowly coming apart, each taut line relaxing until only softness remained. In less than a minute, he was asleep.

Another warm breeze rustled through the branches, the leaves a chorus whispering  _shhh._ A lock of ashy blond hair fell into his eyes, and she gently brushed it away. If he’d been awake he would have blushed, she knew; now he only leaned into her hand, his mouth opening, and she smiled. She would wait as long as he needed. She wasn’t going anywhere.  

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another chapter I've added after the fact -- I wrote this for Petruo week a few months ago and realized it fit perfectly with the story, not to mention it introduces something I plan on bringing back as the story progresses.

Auruo’s mother went into labor Saturday evening, just as they were clearing the dinner dishes from the table. Up in Sina this might have been a cause for celebration and anticipation, but in the slum where Auruo lived childbirth was harrowing and often fatal; with that first contraction, the powderkeg of anxiety that had made a home in the Bossard household ignited.

“At least … nngh … you don’t have work tomorrow,” Mrs. Bossard joked through clenched teeth. “Maybe it’ll be over by then.”

His father didn’t even seem to hear; his face had gone white as bone, his usual smile conspicuously absent. “Get the midwife,” he said to Auruo.

~

When Petra arrived at the Bossard’s that Sunday morning, she was greeted with a bone chilling sight; Auruo hunched on the stoop with Benoit on his lap, his features pulled in ancient anxiety, harrowed by fear. They’d only known one another for a few months, but it didn’t take years of experience to see his disquiet. She was about to ask what was wrong when she heard a weak scream from within the house, and a chill shot down the back of her neck.

“Is it …?” she whispered.

Auruo nodded dully. In the cage of his arms, Benoit whimpered, his little lip trembling as he teetered on the edge of sobs.

There was only a moment of silence between them, but it seemed to stretch an age. Her own memories beckoned – illness, slow decline, a grave where once had been a mother – but in that heartbeat a measure of resolve coalesced in her heart. This was not the time to panic, or to wallow in her own tragedies; it was time to be there for her friend, who was more precious to her than anything.

“Come on,” she said gently, touching his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“I’m s’posed to watch Benoit,” Auruo said, his voice as dull and harrowed as his posture.

“We’re taking Benoit too,” she assured him. “Just far enough away that you can’t hear anymore, alright?”

He hesitated just as another weak scream pierced the air; she saw him flinch, but he stood his ground, his expression heavy with unearned age. “I don’t want to … if something happens, I –“

“Okay,” she said, and took a seat beside him on the stoop, almost close enough to touch. Carefully, she pried Benoit out of Auruo’s stiff arms, and instantly the toddler clung to her, burying his little face against her neck. “Shh,” she soothed, rubbing his back. Genuine comfort proved too much for the boy; a piteous whimper escaped him, muffled by her cardigan.

Above their heads, sheets and linens strung on lines caught and snapped in the autumn breeze, veiling the rising sun. She could hear merchants calling a few streets over, preparing for the day’s market, and she rubbed Benoit’s back with deeper purpose now; the later the hour, the better the everyday cacophony would drown out any reminder and the easier it would be to forget, for at least a little while.

“Alright,” she said to both. “We’ll stay here awhile.”

~

Auruo said nothing for the rest of the morning. Every few moments there would be a low moan of pain from within their house; somewhat drowned out by the Sunday bustle of their neighborhood, yet each time made him wince, and etched the lines of anxiety more deeply in his features. But he did not respond to her overtures; the most he offered was a noncommittal grunt each time she attempted to prod him into conversation, which was the only way she knew how to distract.  

By contrast, Benoit was anything but remote; he clung to her with earnest tenacity, his big brown eyes bright with unshed tears. She shushed him and hummed and rubbed his little back, and when he got hungry she trotted down the street and paid for a sweet roll, feeding it to him in tiny pieces.

It was when she tried to sing a song to ease him to sleep that finally broke through Auruo’s grim reserve. As she sang he stared at her with an expression she didn’t recognize; after a moment, she realized he was trying not to laugh.

“What’s that face?” she said, a little offended.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just that I never heard you sing before.”

“Yeah? And?”

He bit his lip. “It’s … nice.”

“You don’t have to lie!”

“I’m not!! It’s really … it’s really something.”

“You’re lying,” she shot back, peevish. “Why don’t you sing then, if you’re such a good judge?”

And then, a miracle; both Auruo and Benoit smiled briefly, as if they shared some private joke. Petra wasn’t even aware you could have a private joke with a toddler, but that didn’t seem to stop them. Without any fanfare, Auruo launched into the same tune she’d been trying to sing, but the difference was clear; his voice was pure as birdsong, pitched to perfection. Her jaw dropped; she had never imagined that this grumpy, irascible boy could possess such a gift.

“How’s that, bud?” he asked Benoit when he’d finished.

“Hee!” Benoit crowed.

“You never told me you could sing like that,” she said.

“You never asked.”

“What a cheap answer! If I could sing like that I’d be singing all the time. I’d never stop.”

He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with her praise. “It’s not a big deal. Just something I do to calm the brat down.”

And indeed; Benoit was far calmer than he’d been a moment ago. He curled into a loose ball on her lap and sucked his thumb, his eyes drifting shut. It was testament to Auruo’s voice that it could soothe his brother after a night of harrowed worry and a morning in the middle of their noisy street, despite everything that was happening just a few rooms away.

At that moment, a sharp cry of pain slipped through the windows and the crack under the front door, fading to piteous moan. Empathy overwhelmed her. Clenched hands trembled, that old helplessness crowding her heart, prickling at her eyes. She cursed herself; if she was going to cheer up Auruo and keep his thoughts from what might happen, she needed to be better.

“Well, I think it’s lovely,” she told him a little desperately, scooting closer. “I think you could probably sing for money if you wanted.”

“I’ll probably have to, since I dunno how to do anything else,” he muttered.

Talk of making money usually cheered him up, but not today; for some reason, something that lurked beyond her understanding, buried beneath his many layers of reticence and fear. She was still learning him, what made him sad and eased his sadness. She frowned; for the first time in the months they’d known each other, she was at a loss.

She was going to have to ask him.

“Auruo?”

He looked up from his hands and met her gaze, brow furrowed.

“Can you … I know that it’s dangerous, and – I mean, when I lived in my village sometimes women would … but I mean, your mother’s … it’s not her first baby, and I just –“

“You want to know why I’m upset,” he clarified in a dull voice. “Right?”

“I just …the way you’ve been, it all seems …” She bit her lip, hating the word. “Disproportionate.”

“It’s not,” he said in that same, awful tone. “The midwife says she’s probably going to die.”

She gaped, her thoughts wheeling furiously. “She … she said she’ll …?”

“Die,” Auruo said again, and this time the word trembled; his hands clenched into fists on his lap, tendons starkly white.

It was surreal; they sat at the edge of his street, buffeted by the sounds of people calling, haggling over wares. Somewhere deeper in the city her father was likely among them, attempting to move his goods on the busiest day of the week. It didn’t seem right that behind them Auruo’s mother clung to life, not only for her sake but for the baby’s. It didn’t seem possible. Not on such a normal day.

Of course, she knew full well what could come of normal days. Deceptively sunny, bright as a smile. Tricks.

“Why?” she whispered finally.

“Something about the baby being turned around, or – I don’t know.” Auruo shivered. “I didn’t hear much, after awhile. Just … sounds, not really words. I mean they were words, but I didn’t … I didn’t understand them anymore.”

She shifted closer until they were nearly touching, careful not to jostle Benoit too much, as he’d finally fallen asleep. “You don’t know that she will, Auruo,” she said quietly.

“It’s what the midwife said.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she said firmly. “Is she a bad midwife? They’re not supposed to talk like that, not even when things look dire. They’re always supposed to work to save both lives, if possible.”

“You know that for sure, huh? Maybe she’s being realistic about it. God, Petra; she’s seen enough goddamn babies born to know a hopeless situation when she sees it.”

Petra ignored this. “Tell me exactly what she said.”

At first, Auruo said nothing. She watched him trace the outline of a new burn on his forearm, likely from the mill. Being careless, tangled too deeply in his thoughts. “She didn’t outright say she could die, I guess. But … fuck, Petra. She’s a – she’s a smug, jokey piece of crap. Always taking her time, laughing about everything. And today she’s as solemn as a fuckin’ judge. She’s been coming over to our house every other day talking with my mom all quiet and shit, and today I’ve never seen her move so fast. I had to get her when Benoit was born and she took her goddamn time, saying hi to everyone. Not today.”

“You don’t know that it’s about your mom. Maybe something else is going on, something she wouldn’t tell you about. In her own life, maybe.”

For the first time since they’d met, he shot her a furious look, and it startled her – the depth of his reaction, a barely contained simmer. “Why’re you giving me this bullshit, Petra?! This – fuckin’ bullshit adults give me ‘cause they think I’m too young to think about this kinda stuff. I’m gonna have to deal with what happens, whether I’m too young or not! So why’re you giving me this shit too?”

She hadn’t realized that she was. She drew back from him, cowed by his words. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice nearly swallowed by the market’s din. “You’re right.”

It took him only a few moments to deflate, for guilt to replace desperate anger. “No, I just – fuck, Petra, I’m just … I –“ He trailed off, looking so hopelessly lost that it hurt. “I dunno what I’m supposed to do,” he finally said.

“What do you mean?”

“If it happens!” he blurted. “If she dies! I’m gonna have to … I dunno! Who’s gonna watch Benoit? And – and the baby, if it survives? I have to keep working with Dad, ‘cause we need the money but someone’s gotta watch the brats, and – I dunno how to cook that well yet, and I can’t knit or sew that well yet either! And Ma, she’s … I can clean, alright – I can do that. But I can’t do everything!”

His voice broke. “I dunno how to do everything, and she’ll – I don’t want her to – I don’t want …She’s not that old! She isn’t old at all, she just works hard and it messes things up, and I just want – I don’t want her to …”

Here it was; the core of what he felt. Though he hadn’t given it voice, she understood well; he was terrified of losing someone he loved, and failing those who would be left. He didn’t want his mother to die. Without thinking she reached over and took his hand, squeezing it gently.

Before she could speak, he cut her off. “Don’t gimme that ‘she’s going to be alright’ kinda shit, okay? Don’t … don’t lie to me.”

“I won’t,” she said quietly. “She might not.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I dunno – I dunno what – if she –“

“Listen,” she said, each word careful, a light yet unwavering step. “When my mom … it was really hard and I didn’t know what to do.  But we found a way to live without her, and if it happens you will too. There’s always a way forward, alright? I promise you that.”

But he only shook his head. “I – I don’t – I dunno what to do! It’s not just believing things are gonna be okay, I don’t know what to do!  And I have to – I have to be able to – I’ll have to …” His voice shook, nearly as badly as his hands.  

In that moment, sitting beside Auruo as another cry of pain sounded behind them, something in her broke; gentleness faded in lieu of determination. “Do you think I’d let you do this alone?” she said fiercely, her grip on his hand tightening. “Do you think I’ll just leave you to deal with all of this without help?”

“It’s not your responsibility,” he said dully, but he didn’t move to draw his hand away. “You don’t –“

“Stop,” she said. “I told you, remember? It’s not just for the Survey Corps either. I’ll always have your back, and you’ll have mine. No matter what we’re doing.”

He looked at her, then, and his eyes were bright. “What?”

She knew enough about him to know his surprise was not a reflection on herself; regardless, she needed to show him that she was serious, that as long as he was alive, she’d hold this promise.

“I’ll prove it to you,” she said, and she carefully set Benoit down against the curve of the step, breathing a small sigh of relief when he did not stir. “We’ll make a blood promise.”

“A what?!”

With quick fingers, she eased one of the combs out of her hair, testing its sharp point against her fingertip. “Do they not do these in Karanese?”

“I’ve never heard of it,” he said, blinking at her. “I mean … maybe they do. I just haven’t –“

“Right.” He hadn’t had any friends before her. “People do them in my old village to settle an accord. A serious one – not everyday kind of stuff, like ‘I promise to clean up after myself,’ or ‘I promise to do the shopping this week’. They’re for serious, lifelong promises, understand?”

He nodded, eyes wide.

“It’s part of a marriage ceremony, too. I mean – it’s not just for marriage,” she clarified quickly, blushing. “Friends do it too, because it’s a serious promise. Something that lasts forever, and that’s not just for husbands and wives. So … give me your hand.”

He obeyed without a word; she almost thought that he blushed too, though it might have been only a trick of the light, the midday sun veiled by the snapping sheets overhead. She held his left hand in hers and held the comb over his palm, fingers trembling a little. “Is this alright?”

He nodded again. “Y-yeah.”

“It’ll hurt. I have to make a cut that will bleed enough.”

Finally, he seemed to regain a little of himself; his expression contorted with offense. “I can handle it.”

With that, she drew the point across his palm until red blossomed from the cut. And to his credit, he didn’t flinch or draw back from her ministrations; he held his breath, chewing savagely on the corner of his tongue. “Okay?”

He nodded tightly.

“Now you have to do my hand.”

Predictably, he blanched. “I have to – why do I have to do it to you?”

“Because we’re supposed to. It’s a trust thing.”

He clearly did not like the idea of making her bleed, but he took her left hand in his right with nearly unbearable tenderness, and before he could reconsider drew the point of the comb across her palm, wincing worse than he had when she cut him. “Okay?” he asked, voice shaking.

Truthfully, it hurt. But that was the point. “Of course. Now we clasp hands like this.” She took his hand, cut palms pressed together, just as a chorus of screaming and shouting filled the air – louder now, stronger than it had been all morning. She forged ahead, trembling on a swell of determination. “I promise that I’ll always be there for you. For the rest of my life, no matter what happens, I’ll always have your back. Always.”

His hand trembled so badly that it sent tremors rippling up her arm, but his grip was firm. His fine brows furrowed as he tested the weight of the accord, with earnestness beyond anything she’d known in her life. She meant every word.

“Do I – repeat?”

“You don’t have to say it word for word,” she said with a little shrug, wincing as it sent a twitch of pain shooting through her cut palm.

“Alright. I – I promise that I’ll always be there for you. As long as I’m alive, and probably longer than that. If, uh – if the priests are right. I’ll always have your back, no matter what. Even if – ah … even if you get sick of me. I’ll still look out for you.”

“Okay, hold on. I promise that I’ll never get sick of you,” she amended, smiling at him. “No matter what.”

“You don’t know. I’m pretty annoying. I could get even worse than I am now.”

“I don’t care. I’ll never get sick of you. Like it or not, you’re stuck with me, got it?”

“I promise that I’ll always like that I’m stuck with you,” he said, and finally he smiled up at her – exhausted and harrowed, his lovely eyes rimmed by shadow, but a smile. The first one she’d ever seen.

“Okay.” She took a breath and summoned the words, the seal on this truth, a truth that would shape them for the rest of their days. “Now it is writ in our blood.”  

And for once, he let the ceremony pass without sarcasm; he was solemn as the midwife, solemn as a priest. Solemn with significance. At last he released her hand, staring at the smear of blood across his wounded palm. “That makes it official, huh?”

“The most official of anything we can ever do,” she said, echoing his gravity. “At least without a magistrate.”

“Are you saying we’re married now!?”

“No, dummy!” She sighed, rolled her eyes; anything to distract from the blush that colored her cheeks. “I told you. It’s for anyone making a serious promise.”

“Right …”

They waited in silence as his mother’s screaming grew and changed, less pain and more determination; she passed him her handkerchief but he shook his head, clenching his hurt hand into a fist. Gently, she lifted Benoit back onto her lap just as the toddler stirred, whimpering for contact and comfort. She soothed him as she had before, wrapping her cut hand and rubbing his little back. But this time she laid her head against Auruo’s shoulder, and he let his head rest atop hers. And there they waited; not comforted, fearful of what waited for them, but secure in their promise.

~

It was nearing dusk when they heard the piercing wail of an infant, and jubilant sounds from the midwife – her husky voice audible over the din. Petra shook Auruo’s arm, tears rushing to her eyes. “That sounds good,” she sobbed with relief. “I think she’s okay.”

Benoit, of course, began to cry the moment she did, but what surprised her was that even Auruo shivered, a tremulous breath escaping him, as if he’d held it the entire day. “Why’re you so upset?” he demanded, scrubbing at bright eyes with the back of his hand.

“I’m just – relieved,” she hiccupped, hugging Benoit tightly. “Shut up.”

But it was different. It wasn’t the whole truth, she thought as she looked at him, a swell of terrible affection taking hold of her heart. They had leaned on one another, and made a solemn vow, the pain of it still throbbing in her bloodied palm, and in it there was a sort of strength. No matter what awaited them now, they were bound. They could withstand anything.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i live!! i took a huge break because a combination of real life and jerkbrain made writing nearly impossible but now that things have calmed down i want to update this fic regularly again. thanks to everyone for reading, reviewing, bookmarking, following, etc, and for your patience <3 the actual next chapter will be ready next week :)

Auruo adjusted the wide straps over his shoulders and gave them an experimental tug, testing Benoit’s weight against his back. His brother kicked his legs eagerly from under Auruo’s elbows, scuffing the top of the table; he was swaddled in nearly six layers of clothing, including a thick scarf that had nearly engulfed his entire head. Outside, cottony tufts of snow swirled down from a woolen sky, and drifts sprawled carelessly over corners and alleyways, though it had only been coming down for a few hours. Somewhere behind the cover of clouds, daylight brushed the horizon, too faintly to be seen.

“Are you sure you still want to go out today, sweetheart?” his mother said, frowning at the window. “It doesn’t look like it’ll get any better.”

“Of course we do,” Auruo said in a rush. She was going to start hemming and hawing again if he didn’t put her worry to rest. “It’s not too snowy. We’ll just walk around, like I told you already. Benoit’ll be warm enough, and I wrapped his ankle myself. We won’t go outside the gates today, like you said.”

“You have some money?”

He scowled but patted his chest, which gave a soft _clink_. Inside the deepest coat pocket lay his coinpurse; a pickpocket would have to reach right in front of his face to steal that from him. It was a final concession to his mother’s worries, but it did nothing for his own, which congealed in the back of his throat like a bad cold.

His mother took Benoit by the chin. “Now remember, Auruo’s in charge. You have to stay with him and listen to what he says, understand?”

Benoit nodded eagerly, clutching the back of Auruo’s head.

“And you come right back if it gets worse.”

“He’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Just go back to sleep,” Auruo wheedled, backing toward the door. “You said you were gonna rest. You promised.”

She sighed, made an exhausted, flyaway gesture. She was looking thinner, he thought worriedly; wan and transparent. “Don’t stay out too late.”

But Auruo was already out the door, bounding off the stoop in a wild leap, Benoit bouncing against his shoulders. He skidded when he landed, nearly pitching into the snowbank outside of his door, but caught himself against a corner at the last moment. Benoit shrieked with glee.  

“Shh, brat,” Auruo reproached, and gave his leg a chiding tug. “You’re gonna bust my ears.”

When he was an acceptable distance from his house, he slowed his pace, peering anxiously down the street; lined with darkened windows, each building padded soft and white.  The hour was nearly impossible to tell; the rush of faint conversation from a few streets over could have easily been the evening’s weary grousing, the clouds hiding twilight instead of daybreak. It gave the day an odd, disconnected feeling, as if they’d become suspended in time.

The air was thick with a metallic cold, almost too sharp to breathe. Already, his face ached from its touch.

February had transformed Karanese into a dour, gray stranger, and never more so than this year, after nearly two months of the coldest weather in recent memory and more snowfall than anyone had ever seen before. Auruo thought the city might be invisible to even the birds, buried beneath a blanket of suffocating white.

Bending slightly, he muffled a racking cough with his hand and slammed his fist against his tightening chest. The gesture was futile – no matter what he did, his lungs felt heavy, and his breath rattled wetly in the cold. Benoit made a worried sound, his knee jamming into Auruo’s elbow.

“Stop kicking.”

But he buried his face against Auruo’s neck, pumping his legs with petulant vigor.

“If you don’t stop, I’m dumping you in a snowbank.”

“Nooo,” Benoit whimpered.

“So be good. If you’re quiet I’ll get you some hot cider later.”

 With one last feeble kick, Benoit stilled and notched his chin over Auruo’s shoulder, huffing out a sigh.

“What, you don’t want cider? Bet it’ll be even better today. Hot stuff tastes better when it’s cold.”

“Old apples,” Benoit mumbled dully, and he buried his face against Auruo’s neck. “ _No_ apples.”

It was a fair point; usually this deep in winter only the dried provisions were left, and as this season in particular had been difficult, there might not be anything at all. It meant mash, boiled oats, whatever bread they could wrangle when the lines weren’t too long and they had money to spare. Fruit and spices were dreams for the summer.

 “Yeah, well,” Auruo said, rounding the corner onto the main thoroughfare. “You never know. Maybe they’re saving a few crates for a really snowy day, what do you think of that?”

“No,” said Benoit.  

The truth was he agreed with his brother – these were lean months, and the likelihood of a treat was so infinitesimal as to be nonexistent – but as the eldest he had a responsibility to keep his siblings from succumbing to his fears and drowning under the weight of their circumstances. Someone had to keep them looking on the positive side, and when Petra wasn’t around, the task fell to him. As poorly suited as he was for it.

He coughed again, pausing to take a ragged breath. Scurvy and the grippe ran rampant; there were even whispers of a scatterpox outbreak in Shiganshina district, just one careless shipment away from infesting Karanese as well. Supplies were low, food had grown scarce, and to make matters worse, the mill had been cutting back shifts for the last month – lacking resources to keep the factory producing at full capacity. Auruo hadn’t been to work in two weeks. If there was anything good about February, he didn’t know about it.

He and Benoit were first to arrive at the fountain, today’s designated meeting place. Auruo had suggested they spend the morning exploring one of the abandoned warehouses on the south side before they took care of business, since things usually went more smoothly in the afternoon, but Petra would not be persuaded. They were to meet at the fountain before eight bells, suitably warded against the cold.

He picked at the sleeve of his coat. It was brand new and several sizes too large, a fact which made him unaccountably nervous. He worried the pocket flap between twitchy fingers, searching for loose stitching, snags, anything that had to be repaired quickly. The seams were a little weak and haphazard, and the cloth was so coarse that it scraped his cheek every time he turned his head, but it was warm enough, and would last him a few years even if he ended up growing a few inches. He might have kept his old coat until he was finished growing, but twelve years’ wear had reduced it to tatters.

“Be more careful with this one,” his mother had said, pressing the coat into his arms, but he heard the censure beneath her smile. New clothes were an extravagance they couldn’t easily afford.  

Sniffing, he wiped his nose with the back of his hand and brushed the snow off the fountain’s wide edge, until there was a dry enough place to sit and wait. Benoit’s weight was easier to bear sitting. A weary crowd milled around them, wrapped in layers of snow-flecked wool; in some cases, half-buried by hours in the uncompromising weather. They saw a passing rancher who wore a frost-encrusted duster, her knee-high boots caked with frozen mud; atop her gray curls sat a fur-lined hat, little ice crystals dangling from the brim. Probably here for supplies, or to find some hands desperate for work. He burrowed deeper in his too-large coat, tucking his nose beneath the coarse wool of his scarf, and let his breath warm his face.

They didn’t have to wait long for Petra to arrive; he’d only pressed a half-circle of footprints around the base of the fountain when he glimpsed her unmistakable bright auburn hair through the gaps in the crowd. He struggled to his feet and tried to tamp down on the ridiculous intensity of his grin, Benoit shifting awkwardly against his back.

His smile faltered as she drew closer. Her cheeks were splotchy, her eyes glassy and red; she scrubbed at her face before hurrying over to him.  “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“What’s wrong?” he blurted.

“Nothing,” she said, hastily assembling a smile.

“Your eyes are red.”

“I –it’s nothing. It’s cold, you know? Hi, Benoit.”

 _She’s lying_ , he thought, and worry turned his stomach; she never pretended everything was okay when it wasn’t.  At least, not with him.

It had started to snow again; though it was well past daybreak, the sky darkened and the cold grew sharper, stark as a knife to naked skin. Auruo coughed, covering his mouth with his arm, and Petra’s gaze snapped to his. “You’re sick?”

“Nah, c’mon. Everyone’s got a cough around this time of year.”

“I don’t,” Benoit said loudly.

“Everyone except Benoit,” Auruo said, with a dirty look over his shoulder. _The little traitor._ “Stop fussing, alright? It’s not a big deal.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this today.”

“Petra, geez. Who knows when Rondel’s gonna have the back-gate shift again.”

Her gaze hardened, and she jammed her hands on her hips; a posture he was uncomfortably familiar with by now. “Fine. We’re not staying long, and after you’re coming to my house.”

His stomach dropped. “Seriously?”

“You shouldn’t be out in this kind of weather if you’re not feeling well. Especially if you don’t have any shifts at the mill. You should be resting so you’re not still sick when you have to go back. You should –“

“ _You_ should stop fussing,” he said firmly, swallowing the tickle in the back of his throat. Damned if he was going to cough in front of her again.

Her eyes flashed. “You shouldn’t be overexerting yourself if you’re sick, either,” she scolded. “Benoit, do you want to come down?”

“He can’t,” Auruo said immediately. “That was the deal.”

From under his arm, Benoit brandished his bound ankle with an air of wounded bravery. “I hurt it.”

“I see that,” Petra said, and she took Auruo’s arm, pulling him away from the fountain and down the street, her pace insistent. “What happened?”

“I fell!”

“He was being a little jerk,” Auruo added, hiking Benoit up and wincing when his brother’s knee dug into his back. “Tell her what you were doing.”

“No!”

“I’ll tell her if you don’t.”

He could practically feel Benoit’s pout, accompanied by another jab to his side, undoubtedly intentional this time. “I fell,” he said again, burying his face in the Auruo’s collar.

“He was climbing on the pantry,” Auruo said as an aside, and to his relief he saw her lips twitch against a smile.

“Benoit,” she chided gently. “Why would you do something like that?”

“It was high!” Benoit said, fidgeting, as if this excused the excursion.

Auruo yanked his leg. “I know, dummy, that’s why you’re not supposed to.”

“You’re a dummy,” Benoit shot back, kicking him again.

They wound through the streets, making their way to the southwestern edge of the city, where the curved walls of the district met the Wall proper. The main gate was usually manned by a squad as seasoned as they were irreverent, but the southern gate was too small for regular use by merchants and civilians, so most days only one soldier was assigned to the post. Petra had devised her own patrol, and after weeks of reconnaissance had discovered a soldier that would indulge their whim.

That soldier leaned against the gate now, his face half-hidden by the turned-up collar of his winter uniform, ragged from hard wear and poor maintenance. “Hey, kids,” called Rondel, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a craggy grin. “What d’you got for me today?”

Petra passed a box wrapped with linen into Rondel’s waiting hands first, where within he would find rock cakes she’d glazed and garnished with just enough allspice to render them nearly priceless. Scowling, Auruo rummaged through his pockets before producing a battered tin with its label half-peeled away, depicting a flying fish haloed by sunbursts. “The guy I got it from only swiped a pinch,” he said defensively.

“You sure it wasn’t you that swiped that pinch, eh?”

“That shit rots your brains,” Auruo snapped. “Knock yourself out.”

Rondel flipped open the tin and dipped his finger inside, rubbing the substance on his gums.  “It keeps you awake.”

“Are you not getting enough sleep, Rondel?” Petra asked as she shifted from foot to foot and chafed at her arms.

“Don’t trouble yourself.” Rondel waved the tin in her face before pocketing it. “This’ll keep me going.”

“Maybe if you didn’t blow through your requisition so fast, you wouldn’t have to rely on a couple of kids for your kicks,” Auruo said.

“You’re hardly a reliable service,” Rondel said, rolling his eyes. “This is the first time I've seen you in weeks.”

“Some thanks wouldn’t be out of order.”

A rotten smirk. “Thank you, children, for your public service. Now you run back home before you freeze solid.”

“Are you kidding me, old man? It took me _two shifts_ to pay for that,” Auruo blazed. Temper snapped in his veins, crackling like an open flame. “Don’t fuck around with us.”

“What a nasty mouth you have.” 

He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. “Give us something real,” he ground out. “Please.”

Petra touched his arm before he could speak again. “Tell us what happened with your friend,” she urged.  

“Hm. How do you know he ain’t been killed?”

She faltered. “Has he?”

“Nah.”

Auruo flared. “You-!”

She squeezed his arm so tightly that he yelped.  “Please, Rondel. No one else tells us anything,” she said diplomatically.

“You ever think there might be a reason for that?”

“Sure, there’s a reason,” Auruo said bitterly. “Everyone likes it when we’re dumb.”

Rondel said nothing for a long time, his eyes flat in the gray morning light, devoid of human warmth or consideration. Finally, he let out a slow, ragged breath. “Yeah, I got something for ya.”

There were a few civic duty Garrison soldiers amenable to such an arrangement, but none was as forthcoming as Rondel. He was a small, weedy man in his late forties, with pale eyes and hair the color of dried mud, who lived on the outskirts of town with a few dozen other civic guard appointees. People tended to avoid him, unsettled by those strange, ice-chip eyes and the wry smirk he wore; one that gave the impression he was enjoying a joke at your expense.

They spent an hour conferring, heedless of the cold. Even Benoit had fallen still and silent; though every few moments he nudged Auruo anxiously, he listened to their discussion with wide eyes. Beyond a raised eyebrow, Rondel didn’t acknowledge him. He launched into every scrap of military gossip he’d heard over the last few months, imparting each with his trademark sarcastic flourish and enough digression to pay for their offerings: a pack of deserters had been apprehended after the Survey Corps’ 74th expedition, and their executions were scheduled for next week; there were fewer recruits this year than there had been in the last twenty; after a strike in Bellene District, requisitions had been halved until the spring thaw. Morale was low, Rondel told them cheerfully.

Shouting caught their attention; Rondel’s gaze slid toward the commotion with unhurried irritation, as if it were nothing more than the squawking of birds. “Wretched avarice!” bellowed a crier, wandering through the ration line. “Would you gorge yourselves for its own sake, when humanity stands on the brink of starvation?”

Rondel sucked at his teeth. “What a crock. Every day we got this windup agitating, so we don’t start getting any ideas, now. Any lofty notions. But every day the governor’s got his feasts. What about his wretched avarice? I hear he’s even got some meat in his stores, can you believe it?”

Auruo’s lips twisted, but he was pleased to hear his own thoughts echoed by an adult. “Does he ever eat it, or does he just sit on it so he can hoard something everyone wants? Bet he’s got a bunch of fruit too. Wouldn’t do for the governor to get scurvy.”  

“Aren’t you a bitter one,” said Rondel, his eyes glinting with amusement. They watched the crier continue his rounds, chased by mutters from the ration line before he was accosted by a pair of soldiers. “Aw, he’s leaving already. I could recite his whole sermon from memory, you wanna hear?”

“Why would anyone want to hear that crap.” Auruo said, incredulous.

“Just as well. Suppose it’s easy to preach about wanting too much when you’ve never been hungry, what d’you think.”

“You shouldn’t talk so loud,” Petra said quietly, craning around. “Both of you shouldn’t. Someone might overhear.”

“Nobody’s listening to me,” he said with a sour smile. “Not over that turkey, anyway.

But Petra made no move to leave; she looked up at Rondel with the intense regard of a scholar, searching for the answer in his face. “Why didn’t you join the Survey Corps with your friend?” she asked.

“I’m not so strong that I’d be much of any use, or last that long,” said Rondel with a shrug. “Not smart enough either. Or dumb enough, depending on who you ask, heh.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Auruo muttered.

But Rondel didn’t seem to hear him; his expression darkened with uncharacteristic concern, his mouth a flat, hard line. “You kids,” he said, scratching at his jaw. “What d’you want to join so bad for? Don’t you got anything better to do?”

“There is nothing better than serving your country and its people,” Petra said stubbornly.

“Heh. That right?”

“Isn’t that why you joined the military in the first place?”

Rondel smirked, scuffing the tip of his nose with the back of his hand. “I joined for three squares and a bed.” But the smirk faded before either of them could retort, a brief break in the light before darkness returned. “How about it, you two? You getting enough to eat? Someone hurting you at home? Do you _have_ a home?”

“Of course we have homes. And no one’s hurting us, either,” Petra said firmly.  

He didn’t seem convinced. “Yeah … if you’re sure. I figure you gotta be desperate to want something like the Survey Corps.”

Petra held his gaze. “Don’t you feel a little desperate looking at the Walls every day?” 

“I’d feel desperate outside of ‘em. Even without the Titans.”

“Why?” Auruo cut in. “There isn’t enough space for everyone in here, and not enough land to grow food on, not enough resources. We can’t squat in here forever.”

“What would a bunch of kids care about something like that.”

“Why shouldn’t we care?” Petra demanded.

“We’re freezing to death in this dump too,” Auruo said, with a furious gesture behind them. “Don’t you see all of this crap? It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out; you have more land, you can make more food for more people. You can have more saved up for winter.”

Concern and sarcastic amusement slipped from his expression, replaced by censure. “Alright now, that’s enough. You need be quiet about that shit,” he said slowly, glancing over their shoulders before fixing them with a hard look. “You know what happens to people who get too loud, ask too many questions?”

They fell silent. The sheer incongruity of the law rendered it immaterial, almost – they couldn’t allow themselves to imagine it fully, because it felt like a final concession. “It’s not right,” Petra said quietly.

“I didn’t say it was,” Rondel said, not unkindly. “But if you were smart, you’d forget about all that nonsense, join the Garrison instead and get yourself a nice paycheck, some regular meals, the good stuff when times are kind. We have an okay thing going, here. It’s not perfect, but nothing’s perfect, you understand? You go outside, you’ll get another pile of problems, even if there weren’t any Titans.”

“If we should just shut up and stop caring, why answer any of our questions in the first place?” Auruo demanded hoarsely, lapsing into a fit of coughing.

Rondel craned up at the sky, blinking snowfall out of his eyes. “Well, like you said. Gotta get my kicks somehow,” he sighed. “You kids go on home, before it gets worse. And think about what I said, maybe.”

Petra thanked him, as she always did. But Auruo adjusted the harness straps over his shoulders, hiking his brother up against his back. “Don’t hold your breath,” he muttered, and he kicked a chunk of dirty ice at the Wall, watching with satisfaction as it shattered.

~

By the time they reached Petra’s neighborhood, it was almost impossible to see more than a foot in front of their faces. He and Petra had to hold hands so they wouldn’t lose track of each other as they trudged up the street through drifts up to their knees. It had begun to be very hard to breathe, and his body shook with exhaustion; she seemed to know this, her grip around his fingers tightening until he winced. Through the sheeting white, they saw a few soldiers struggling to complete their patrol; bundled in their winter uniforms and blasted with snow, they looked like weary statues, ancient in neglect.

He’d never been to Petra’s home before, but he was feeling sick enough to reconsider it out of principle; his throat was raw, chest tight with phlegm, and he’d developed a splitting headache in the time it took to cross the city. But his home was another eleven blocks away, and he wasn’t sure he’d make it that far in this weather. Benoit needed to get out of the snow before he got sick, too.

They staggered up the stoop. She relinquished his hand and fumbled inside her coat pocket, then with the door, pushing it open with all her strength. They piled inside with a swirl of icy wind and snow before they collapsed against the door again, shutting it against the storm.

“Dad?” she called. No answer came; the halls loomed darkly before them, fathomless and cold. After a moment, Petra let out a shaky breath. “He’s probably still at the bakery.”

“He opened it today?”

She paused, touching the wall. “He would have gone no matter what the weather was like.”

She didn’t elaborate, but there was a terrible foreboding in the way her voice folded into the silence, solemn as a funeral bell. He followed her deeper into the darkness as she groped for an oil lamp and turned it on; the glow haloed out in the cavernous hallway, fragile yet warm.

First, they saw to Benoit. He unwrapped the layers of snow-encrusted wool and pushed his brother’s sweaty hair off his forehead while Petra bustled about the kitchen, filling a kettle and lighting the stove. Benoit’s eyes drooped, and he yawned widely, curling into the corner of the divan; he’d barely done anything but cling to Auruo’s shoulders the entire morning, but such unforgiving weather would exhaust anyone, especially a toddler. His own shoulders ached so badly he couldn’t straighten them without wincing.  But he grabbed a blanket off the divan and swaddled his brother tightly inside, until all that could be seen of him were his eyes and the intractable mass of dark curls he’d inherited from their mother.

“You okay, Benny?” he said hoarsely.

“Sleepy.”

“Your head hurt?”

Benoit shook it, bundling deeper into his blanket cocoon. “Sleep.”

“You want anything to eat? Petra’s making tea, looks like.”

“Sleep!”

Auruo ruffled Benoit’s hair and dropped onto the divan beside him. “Alright, Benny.”

Chewing the inside of his cheek, he thought of his mother probably pacing worried circles in their kitchen, glancing every few moments out the window. He’d desperately pleaded for a chance to get some fresh air, for a day devoted to his and Petra’s shared aspirations rather than spent staring miserable holes in the wall. Benoit needed it too; he’d been cooped up for weeks. He hoped she would assume he’d taken shelter at Petra’s. He wasn’t completely stupid.

After he finished stripping Benoit, he set about removing his own sodden outerwear; inside Petra’s home, it was just warm enough to melt the clumps of snow into freezing damp that chafed against his raw skin and chilled him down to his bones. He muffled a racking cough behind his hands. A headache pressed at his temples, throbbing insistently, and a wave of dizziness nearly overcame him. He folded himself into the corner of the divan and closed his eyes, resting his head on his knees. Just for a moment, just to get his bearings …

A gentle hand on his shoulder startled him awake. He rubbed his eyes and blinked up at Petra’s worried face, half hidden in shadow, half illuminated by firelight from the stove, which she must have lit while he dozed.  Outside, the wind howled, a forlorn sound that made the back of his neck prickle and crawl. He coughed again, despairing; he couldn’t hide it from her anymore. “What is it?” 

Only then he did notice a tin in her hand. “Unbutton your shirt.”

“What?!”

She settled herself beside him on the divan, tucking an ankle under her knee and letting her other foot scuff the worn rug. She had that determined wrinkle between her brows, the same one she’d worn the day they’d met, when she’d saved him from his tormentors and dabbed at his bleeding lip with her handkerchief. He felt much the same as he did then, foolish and ungainly and awkward, even though they’d known each other for almost a year. “Do it,” she urged him. “Or I’ll do it.”

He could never argue with her; no matter how strong his argument, she always got her way in the end. “You’re so pushy,” he muttered, fumbling at the buttons of his shirt with stiff fingers. “What’s that supposed to be?”

“It’s camphor,” she explained as she unscrewed the tin and set the lid aside. “It’ll help with your cough.”

“You shouldn’t waste that on me,” he said at once, scooting away from her. “It’s expensive, c’mon –“

“Don’t be stupid,” she snapped. “It’s not a waste.” The anger in her voice would have startled him enough to comply without griping about it, but something surged beneath her temper, a wound he didn’t understand. After an uncertain pause, he sat back down and tried to calm the feverish pounding of his heart through force of will. She would be able to hear it in the silence, feel it beneath her fingers. She would know, then.

She swiped inside the tin and smeared a glob of the salve on his chest, massaging it into his skin with practiced motions. “Deep breaths,” she told him. He noticed her hands were shaking, or it might have been his own pathetic trembling, not entirely from the cold. “It’ll help.”

He knew it would – his family hoarded what they could get their hands on for his father, whose cough never seemed to abate. But the instructions seemed to be more for her benefit than his, so he said nothing and watched her work and tried not to think too much about it. She had pretty hands, he noticed unwillingly; small and graceful, her nails perfect ovals, yet with iron strength folded in her fingers, in the way her palms worked the salve through his skin with powerful strokes, over his chest up to his throat. He hated to be touched, but he didn’t hate this, not at all. Not like he should have. “Breathe,” she told him again, so soft, and he did.

The camphor took effect almost immediately; suddenly he _could_ breathe without choking on sputum or feeling it catch and thicken at the back of his throat, which was more relief than he’d expected. She held the tin under his nose, and he inhaled as deeply as he could manage, the bracing scent of it swirling down into his lungs, spreading like heat. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. She was always doing stuff like this, going out of her way to fuss over people, but it never failed to take him by the heart. He didn’t think it ever would.

“It’s better, right?”

“Yeah.”

She smiled, but it was a brittle thing, quickly claimed by the cold. “Let me find some more blankets. When the snow stops, I’ll help you get Benoit home.”

“Geez, you don’t have to –“

“Well, I’m going to anyway. And you can stop being so difficult about it any day now.”

“ _I’m_ difficult?”

“Exceedingly.”

She swept away with a little of her old dignified temerity, and he felt his worry recede. It was probably the weather bothering her, probably her usual fretting, maybe she’d argued with her father this morning. Sometimes he got the feeling that their relationship was different than his was with his family; more focused, since they only had each other, yet there was a breach he sensed from the way she spoke about him sometimes, her smile melting into a mask. She would think it a betrayal to say anything unkind, but she was the worst liar he’d ever met in his life.  

He hastily buttoned his shirt, willing his fingers to stop shaking. Benoit snuffled in his sleep, fussing beneath the blankets, and Auruo reached over to smooth his hair back until he calmed. Outside, the storm raged, rattling the windows in their panes. By the time Petra returned, he’d drifted off again.

“Here,” she said, shaking out a blanket and draping it around him before plopping beside him on the divan. It smelled like dust and spice and something he couldn’t name, like soft fabric after being left out in the sun for an afternoon. It shouldn’t have been possible, but he’d accepted that there was magic to her a long time ago. And he didn’t even believe in magic.

He opened his mouth to ask her what was bothering her again, but she beat him to the punch, fixing him with a hard look, heavy with reproach. “How long has it been that bad?”

“I dunno,” he hedged. “I don’t pay attention.”

“Don’t be stupid. How long?”

He shrugged in appeal. “There’s a lot going on right now, okay? Christophe’s just a baby, and it’s been so cold, and we don’t have any – look, it’s fine, I’ll pay better attention, I promise.”

“No, you won’t,” she said bitterly, turning away from him. He thought her eyes seemed bright. “You always do this.”

“How would you know? You haven’t been around long enough for ‘always’.”

She ignored the invitation to bicker. “Do you care about your life at all?”

“Wha – of course I do!”

“Then why don’t you take care of it?! You’re always getting into fights and taking stupid risks and ignoring your health because it annoys you –“

“Whoa, whoa, why are we talking about my _life_? It’s just a stupid cough.” His temper caught up with him. "And I haven't gotten into a fight since you yelled at me about it!" 

“If I hadn’t shown up that first day, what would’ve happened? You’d have found those guys again and insulted them or annoyed them because they’re horrible, and they’d have beaten you up again. Maybe one day they’d go too far and really hurt you, or kill you – that kind of thing happens, sometimes! There were some boys in my old village who were always roughhousing, and while they were messing around one of them fell off a roof and broke his neck, and they were _friends_. They weren’t actually trying to hurt each other. What could they have done to you, trying to?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s the same,” she said. “It’s exactly the same. You don’t think about anything but what _should_ be – those guys should shut up, your family should rest, should, should –“

“You do the exact same thing!” he shot back. “What are you raking me over the coals for? Is it only okay if you do it or something? That’s some bullshit, Petra.”

“Why did you come out today?” she demanded angrily, her breath ragged and uneven, gripping his shirt in a shaking fist. “You should have stayed inside. You should be resting too. You made it worse tromping around in a snowstorm all morning, trying to be accommodating. It’s just going to get worse and worse, don’t you know that? You never think about anything like that, because it’s _annoying_ , because it’d _never_ happen to you, couldn’t possibly, and it’ll get worse and you’ll die just like –“

A sob tore out of her. “It’s not fair,” she wept, head bowing. _“It’s not fair.”_ And he knew they weren’t talking about him anymore.

Her shoulders shook with the effort of containing her sobs, tears spilling into her lap. He didn’t know what to do. His hands were suddenly too big, attached to boneless arms, his tongue swollen and stupid in his mouth; whatever words of comfort he could were too small for her pain. Unfreezing his limbs and shucking the blanket from his shoulders, he gingerly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, and she clung to him desperately, pressing her face against his shoulder.

All he could think of was the truth. “I wanted to see you,” he said. “That’s why.”

That only made her cry harder.

“And – and I wanted to talk to Rondel,” he backtracked, panicking. “Who knows when that lousy cheat’ll have back gate shift again. And I wasn’t keen on my parents finding that crap I got for him in my socks. Since, y’know, it rots your brains.” _You idiot,_ he cursed himself. _You fucking moron._ That’s all this reckless truth telling got you; a deeper wound.

He fell silent, waiting for her to jerk out of his arms and disappear, to her room or the kitchen or wash closet, someplace without his stupidity clouding up the air, but a long time passed and she didn’t move, only cried against him. The front of his shirt was wet by then, but he didn’t care; he rubbed her back a little, and that seemed to be okay. After a while, her crying gave way to ragged, hitching breaths, hot against his chest. They held each other without speaking, the only sound the wind howling through the rafters.  

“She died today,” Petra whispered. “Three years ago.”

He went still, his heart diving to the pit of his stomach. _Of course._ His arms tightened around her, and he brushed one hand up her back, slow, gentle as he dared. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his throat tight. He was angry, he realized; at the profound injustice and his helplessness in the face of it, how little he could do to make this better, to shield her from it. “I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she told him. “I don’t – I hate thinking about it. I can’t change anything about it and I can’t bring her back, so I wanted to talk to Rondel and think about the Survey Corps, because I believe in that. It’s – it’s like a light on the horizon, while everything is dark. I keep my eyes on it even though I can’t see anything else around me. And it works most of the time, it would have worked today, if – your cough –“

“I’m so sorry,” he said again, hating himself.

“That’s how she died,” she whispered. “She had – it was consumption. She was sick for a really long time, since I was six, and we thought it was getting better – it does sometimes. She told us that it would, she was always saying stuff like that. She didn’t want us to worry.”

 _Sounds familiar_ , he wanted to say, but stopped himself. “I’m –“

“Stop saying you’re sorry.”

“…What do you want me to say?”

“Anything else.”

He thought about it. “What was she like?”

“She was …” Petra bit her lip. “She was a terrible cook. Dad was always the one who had to make the food. She did the shopping though, and it always took her at least half a day because she was really funny and everyone always wanted to talk to her.”

“What kind of funny?”

“Not jokes exactly, just – she had a story for everything, and they were always so interesting that people didn’t care if she went on talking about it too long, because when she was done she always wanted to hear your stories too. And she’d listen to them like it was the most fascinating thing she ever heard. She was like that about everything. She loved everything.”

“That sounds like you.”

Petra’s lip trembled. “Well … maybe I got it from her. It was hard not to, she used to take me on adventures all the time – ‘adventures’ she called them, because according to her anytime you went outside it was an adventure. Even to do the shopping! There was always something new to find, someone new to meet, something new to see. She’d get sad if she couldn’t go out for a long time. It  … it was hard, when she got sick. I think that was the hardest part. I’d go out alone and come back and tell her everything I saw, and it made her happy, but I knew it wasn’t the same.”

He wished that he could have met her, almost as much as he wished that she and Petra could still go on one of their adventures. The memory of her wide-eyed delight with Karanese took him by the heart, and he bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. He knew the reason, now; he saw where it had come from. He held her closer.

“She’s why I wanted to –“ She abruptly tore herself out of his arms, her eyes wide and pleading. “You need to go to a doctor,” she said desperately.

“C’mon, I don’t have consumption. I’d be in way worse shape if I did.”

“Please don’t – please don’t argue with me. Not about this.”

He stowed the rebellion, shame twisting in his stomach until she reached over to pinch his cheek. “Hey, hey! Yeah, I’ll go. I’ll go tomorrow, I guess, since I don’t got anything else to do.”

“I’ll go with you,” she said. “I already know what we’re learning at school.”

He didn’t doubt it, nor did he envy her – school had been hell for him, every day bursting with new humiliations to heap on the pile of his shame. He was small and weedy and weird, and his peers had never liked him. The only subject he’d enjoyed was mathematics, which only served to further alienate him.  “What, you don’t trust me or something?”

“About this? No.”

He probably deserved that. “Geez. I said I would!”

“Hm.” But her lips curved, slightly enough that he feared he’d imagined it until she took his hand and squeezed his fingers.

The settled on the floor in front of the stove, bundling themselves in a massive quilt nearly the size of the room. He pulled the corners tight around their shoulders and burrowed deep, savoring the heat of the fire, and of her wedged tightly against him. He hadn’t been this warm in months.

“Why didn’t you ask about her before?” she asked him after a long time.

He picked at a hangnail, pulling until blood bloomed at its edge. “I figured … if you wanted to talk about it, you’d talk about it. I – I’m not gonna poke around at something you don’t want to think about it just ‘cause I’m curious or I want to help, it’s not – it’s not mine.”

“You want to help?”

Heat rushed to his face. “Geez! Why wouldn’t I?”

He couldn’t be sure, not in the low light, but he thought her eyes might have softened a little. “You knew I was upset right away.”

“W-well, come on! It’s not exactly hard to tell, okay?”

“I think it is,” she said softly, picking at her sleeve. “It has to be. No one else asks me about it.”

Anger clenched his heart into a fist. “Not even your dad?”

She shrugged, wiping her eyes. “I try not to act upset. I don’t want that to make _him_ sad, after all. He wouldn’t be able to say anything that would make me feel better, either. Whenever I tried to talk about her before, he’d freeze up with this horrible look on his face and stumble out of the room. Like he was trying to get away from even remembering her. It was too much. I can’t put him through that anymore.”

In that moment, he loved her so terribly that he thought he would die from the weight of it, the sheer magnitude, too vast to be denied or contained. “You don’t have to do that with me,” he said, on a rush of feeling. “Trying not to act upset, I mean. There’s this guy at the mill, he says if you do that too much it’ll pickle your insides until you’re briny and bitter, and that’s all that’s left.”

“That’s gross.”

“It’s what he said! All shriveled up.” He shot her a nasty grin, driving his finger into her side. “Moldy.”

“Eugh! Shut up!” He thought she might retaliate with a pinch or a cuff around the head, or a smack on the shoulder even, but instead she wiggled closer, groping for his fingers. Her fine hair brushed his cheek, light as a sigh. “You’re disgusting.”

“ _You_ are.” But she had smiled, set aside her grief, refused to let it defeat her. And he loved her for that too.

In a little while, they would put on their half-dried coats and sling Benoit onto Petra’s shoulders, and trudge up the streets back to his home, before his mother keeled over from worry. She would insist Petra stay for a cup of tea, at the very least, if not for dinner, before telling his father to walk her home. They would have to leave before it got too dark, but now he bargained for every extra minute, each heartbeat spent wedged tight beside each other beneath a pile of blankets, warm from the stove. Each moment spent listening to her breathe, sniffle, her fingers gripping his so tight that they hurt. Just a little while, he told himself, a little while longer.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a bit irregular -- I wrote this chapter well after the fact because this scene in particular would not stop hounding me, and I knew I had to include it in the overall work. I will have the true next chapter ready early next week! And in any case, I hope you all enjoy this one!

Petra stood on the Bossard’s stoop and excitedly smoothed her skirt over her hips. In the distance, she could hear merchants calling to one another as they set up their stalls for the Sunday market. Glimmers of sunrise peeked around rooftops and chimneys, the light catching on the masonry. Above her, a pair of birds took flight, twittering as they wheeled higher in the pale spun sky.

Even after more than two years of friendship, she couldn’t shake the polite habits she’d forcibly acquired at a young age, though at the moment she could have happily burst through the door and into her grumpy friend’s arms, holding him tightly until he wiggled free. But her manners came to nothing; before she could knock, the door edged open and a pair of wide brown eyes peeked out from behind.

“Hi, Benoit,” she said, crouching to his level and offering him a smile.

It took the boy half a second to decide what to make of this intrusion before he tentatively stepped forward and offered her knee a gentle pat. As the years passed, the differences between Auruo and Benoit became more pronounced, but in this regard they were largely the same; so sweet it made her chest ache. She gathered up the wriggly boy in her arms and laughed when he gave a tiny, nearly imperceptible yelp of glee.

“That you, sweetheart?” called Mrs. Bossard, craning over with baby Didier pressed against her shoulder and Christophe clutching the hem of her skirt.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to barge in …” Petra began, but the older woman shook her head before she could finish.

“Nonsense,” she said with a kind smile. “It’s only barging when you’re unwelcome.”  

It was a gift, Petra thought as she stepped over the immaculate threshold; no matter how busy Mrs. Bossard was, no matter how many things occupied her time and attention, the moment Petra arrived she did nothing less than make her feel wholly, utterly welcome.

She passed the baby into Mr. Bossard’s arms with a tender smile, and not for the first time Petra felt a small curl of envy entwine with the tender appreciation; she loved her own father dearly, but she would be a liar of the worst sort if she didn’t admit that most days she yearned for a family like Auruo’s – with two parents who loved each other in the most obvious, lovely way, and so many siblings that no matter what she’d never be lonely again.

Mrs. Bossard gently knocked on the bedroom door; three light raps. “Auruo,” she called. “Wake up.”

She heard a sleepy groan that distinctly belonged to Auruo at his most irritable. “ _Va t’en … je dors.”_

“Auruo, it’s late,” Mrs. Bossard continued carefully in German with a self-effacing smile. This was another familiar facet of her frequent visits to the Bossard house; no matter what, they wouldn’t speak French while she was around, and would instead converse in their easy, overly colloquial German.

_“Fiche-moi la paix!”_

Mrs. Bossard’s expression lost its indulgent edge, and her mouth set in firm irritation. “Petra is here, Auruo.”

There was a pause, and then a stream of unintelligible cursing filled the tiny room, so intense that Benoit giggled and Mr. Bossard shook his head, battling a grin of his own. In less than a minute, Auruo emerged – disheveled, sleep mussed, and red faced. He snatched a hard roll from the breadbasket on the counter and made for the door without looking at anyone. Biting her lip to hide the grin, Petra hurried after him.

“Don’t stay out too late!” Mrs. Bossard called from the stoop. Auruo pretended not to hear her, taking a huge bite of the roll as he rounded the corner into the main thoroughfare.

Petra waited until he was finished chewing until she craned over, and she could not help the teasing smile. “Feeling alright?”

He grunted, lips pursing; likely he suspected a trap.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he muttered, annoyed. “Why?”

“You never sleep so long on Sundays,” she said with a shrug. “I thought you might be sick.”

He looked away. “I meant to be up earlier. I was gonna come get you today, actually, but … dunno. Stayed up late, was kinda tired. Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

He turned to study her face, brows knitting over troubled eyes. “I thought you might … ah, geez. Never mind.”

She’d more or less become accustomed to his reticence, which had seemed to take a different dimension in these recent months. He’d never been overly forthright or open, but now he often cut himself off in the middle of a thought, and his frequent blushing was less sweetly flustered and more frustrated, internal and inexplicable.

Though she was curious, she let the subject drop. “What would you like to do today?” she asked brightly.

“I thought it was your turn to pick,” he said, popping the rest of the roll into his mouth.

“I picked last Sunday. You don’t remember?”

He chewed for a moment and swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t remember. We found that abandoned cottage and stayed out so late we got in trouble.”

His frown deepened. “ _You_  got in trouble. And your dad threatened to skin me alive.”

“I can’t believe you forgot about all that!”

“I didn’t forget,” he fired back, slightly annoyed. “Well … I mean, I did. But not because it was boring.”

“I’m starting to worry about your memory.”

“My memory’s fine,” he retorted. “Geez.”

“Next you’ll be forgetting my name.”

“Is the point to give me a hard time until I apologize?”

“You don’t have to apologize, Auruo,” she laughed, and before she could stop herself she looped her arm through his, holding him close. “I’m just teasing.”

“Yeah, you are,” he muttered, but to her surprise he didn’t yank his arm out of her grasp. Instead, he tolerated the close contact with a steadily increasing flush.

And she couldn’t help this either; she beamed up at him, at his adorably flustered face, so familiar and dear to her that she could conjure the entire topography of it without assistance or suggestion. “So come on. Tell me what you’d like to do today.”

He thought about it for a moment, and she enjoyed the way his brows knit as he considered his options, the slightly self-conscious way he chewed on his lower lip and his preoccupied stare, currently aimed at his worn shoes. When he looked up again, his expression had become resolute. “I want to see the piano.”

Instantly, her smile vanished. “We almost got arrested last time,” she pointed out.

“We did not.”

“Yeah we did! That head guard said he’d cart us off to prison next time he caught us sniffing around.”

“Why? We weren’t breaking anything, or breaking into the Governor’s stupid mansion. We were just looking. Not even like creeps, just looking at their stupid rich crap they keep by the windows for that exact reason.” One ashy blond brow arched. “I’m pretty sure looking isn’t against the law.”

“Still …”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want. But you asked what I wanted to do. That’s what.”

She scowled up at him – annoyed at the request, annoyed that lately she’d had to crane up to look him in the eye, because in the last year he’d grown about three inches. “That’s not fair.”

“What did I do now?!”

“When you put it like that, I can’t say no.”

“Pretty sure you can, Petra.” And for the first time that day, his lips twitched against a grin. “It’s not like that’s ever stopped you before.”

“Yeah, but I feel bad about it.”

He scoffed. “No, you don’t.”

“I do! You get this sad puppy face and it messes with me for the rest of the week. I think about how you’re working in that horrible factory, and on your one day off I disappointed you.”

“I do not have a sad puppy face!”

“Oh yes you do.”

“What the fuck?!”

She smacked him so hard that he stumbled. “Don’t use that language.”

“What language?” His grin became sly. “’Fuck’? Ah, but it’s such a great word. So versatile.”

“Auruo--!”

“And anyway,” he cut in, averting his gaze, and for a moment she thought his cheeks colored. “You don’t ever disappoint me.”

It wasn’t the nicest thing he’d ever said to her; in fact, he could be incredibly kind when the mood struck, or when his guard lowered enough to allow him to speak honestly. But given his reticence, she couldn’t help but to celebrate these moments. She held his arm more tightly, and did not bother stifling her smile. “Oh, Auruo …”

“Don’t – don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, and there was no mistaking his blush now. “Geez, Petra.”

“Like what? Like I like you? Because I do.”

He swallowed hard. “Too bad I don’t like you.”

“Yeah, you do. Why else would you spend all your free time with me?”

“Because I’m bored,” he said, affecting nonchalance. “Because I’m a jerk.”

“No, you’re not.” She pinched his side before he could cut in. “Fine, you jerk. Let’s go see the piano.”

“We don’t have to,” he muttered. “You don’t have to humor me.”

“I’m not. I was going to say that we could as long as we don’t spend the whole morning staring at it, like we did last time.”

“We didn’t spend the whole fuckin’ morning last time!” he blurted, annoyed. “I just – ugh. I just got caught up. I won’t this time.”

She allowed this with a grudging sigh, though honestly she had far less of a problem with it than she pretended. “Come on,” she said, tugging his arm.

They made their way through the alleys and streets with ease only gained through repetition. She’d lost count how many times they’d poked through the familiar dark corners, intent on a shortcut home or an afternoon’s diversion, and after two years of these expeditions with Auruo at her side, she could navigate Karanese with her eyes closed. In fact, she thought she might try it one of these days.

In the slums and surrounding neighborhoods, they were able to pass without being stopped by the Garrison because there was nothing overly odd about two wandering kids, but as they passed into the wealthy district, they abandoned their easy stroll and became vigilant. They slipped around corners and behind Garrison soldiers, darting out of sight before they could be seen and apprehended.

And Petra had made a fuss about the risk, but secretly she found the whole business thrilling. It was inexplicably exhilarating to sprint through someplace forbidden, with Auruo moving at her side, and she relished the easy cadence of his breathing as he ran, as he hid, as he craned from behind a corner and watched the patrolling guards with a canny, cunning gaze.

When they reached the Governor’s mansion, Auruo darted to their spying tree; a maple with strategically placed branches that allowed them to peer into the Governor’s drawing room under the cover of wide leaves. With a grunt of effort, he jumped and quickly pulled himself onto the bottom branch before reaching down for her. “Come on,” he said, shaking his hand a little for emphasis. “Hurry.”

She bounced on the balls of her feet before springing up, and just when she thought she’d fall back he caught her arm and hauled her up, his jaw clenched in determination. She clambered onto the branch and gripped it tightly with her legs, grinning a little as she peered down at the finely cobbled street. “Do you think they saw?”

“If they saw they’d be chasing us off.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” She nodded toward the gilded window. “So look before we get arrested.”

“We’re not gonna get arrested,” he said in a huff. “Why’d you agree to it if you were just gonna complain the whole time?”

“I’m not complaining,” she said with great dignity. “Go on.”

He shot her an irritated look before turning to the drawing room window, craning forward as much as he could. And almost instantly, the tense line of his shoulders relaxed, and she knew that if she could see his face it’d be devoid of its usual irritable expression. She peered over his shoulder to get a look too; the piano didn’t hold the same fascination for her as it did for Auruo, but she could still appreciate its beauty – the smooth keys, the massive black frame polished to such a shine that she was certain she’d be able to see her reflection in it.

But after a few minutes the piano lost its allure compared to her friend, perched in front of her on their branch, shrouded by rustling leaves. She watched the funny cowlick at the crown of his head, and the familiar freckle at the base of his neck. And as she watched, he slowly released his grip on the branch and lifted his hands, as if they were a moment from descent, as if instead of air beneath them were the keys of a piano.

Through the window, she could see a figure stroll toward the piano, and her breath caught in tandem with his. Maybe today … but no; whoever it was idly closed the lid of the piano, and the pristine keys vanished from sight. Auruo’s shoulders slumped, and unconsciously she wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly.

“I don’t know why you like coming here,” she said gently, resting her head against his shoulder. “It always makes you sad.”

She felt him shrug, but for once he didn’t stiffen or try to wiggle out of her grasp. In fact, to her vast surprise, he leaned slightly into her arms; so slightly that she could have been imagining it. “I dunno either,” he said heavily. “I guess it just bothers me that they got this – this amazing thing and they don’t appreciate it, or even use it. No one plays that fuckin’ piano. The only people that touch it are the maids, and they probably resent the dumb thing for collecting dust.”

“You appreciate it,” she pointed out.

“Yeah. I do.”

She tucked her head over his shoulder, grinning up at him. “You’d play it all the time.”

He glanced down at her, and the smallest smile curved his lips. “Probably. I mean, I wouldn’t be able to play anything at first. It’d take some work to be able to play even simple stuff.”

“Oh yeah, and you’re terribly lazy. Never mind, then.”

He wasn’t, and they both knew it. “I’d play that stupid thing so much you’d get sick of hearing it.”

“I would never,” she said. “Especially not if you sang too.”

“Geez …” he muttered, flushing.

They lapsed into easy silence. Auruo gripped the branch with his legs and extended his hands again, fingers twitching slightly over his imaginary piano, and a deep sigh escaped him. After a while she realized she could hear him humming a tune she didn’t recognize, the sound of it slightly muffled through his chest and the dull, comforting thud of his heartbeat.

She closed her eyes. He so rarely allowed this kind of closeness without fidgeting and grumbling, so she savored what she could. He was solid and warm in her arms, and the scent of him filled her; soap and the steel mill and something else, something with no name, yet somehow distinctly Auruo. A warm, buzzing sensation settled in her limbs, and she sighed. She couldn’t imagine ever being more content than she was at this moment, in a tree outside the Governor’s home, with the rustling leaves shading them from view.

A shout from below shattered the quiet. Through the branches, she could see a handful of guards pointing at the tree, their expressions stark and terrifying.

“Shit!” Auruo hissed. Without hesitation he leapt from branch, staggering hard and hissing in pain when his knees scraped the ground. But he turned back and held out his arms, and she understood the moment he spoke, his voice cracking: “Jump!”

They had never done this before. She knew he could bear her weight on his back, because he carried her over the river every week, but she had no idea if he’d be able to do this. But there was no time to think; she pushed off the branch and hurtled to the ground –

\--and he caught her with a low ‘ _oof’._ She had one, strange and all too brief moment to realize that he was stronger than she thought, and that being held by him summoned that strange, buzzing feeling in her stomach again. But then he set her down and yelled for her to run, and she was good at that. She could run.

They tore through the immaculate streets with the guards on their heels, weaving around passers-by and ducking into dark alleys in a frantic effort to lose their pursuers. And she didn’t want to go to prison or have to explain any of this to her father, but she couldn’t deny the odd thrill that coursed through her veins and made her heart race, that made her feel free and alive. When she craned over her shoulder, she caught a flash of Auruo’s grin and knew that he felt the same.

~

“Shit,” Auruo gasped, clutching his knees. They’d taken cover in a dusty alley just outside of the market, listening for the sounds of purposeful guards in hot pursuit. But she could only hear the merchants calling and people conversing, and slowly she relaxed. They were safe, for now.

“I told you,” Petra hissed, but she couldn’t stop grinning. “What did I say? I said they’d arrest us if they caught us sneaking around. I  _told you!”_

“Yeah, yeah,” he shot back. “You told me, you fuckin’ told me. Satisfied? You look pretty fuckin’ satisfied.”

She drew herself up with great dignity. “I’m just glad we’re not sitting in prison right now.”

“Like they’d have taken us to prison,” he smirked. “They’d probably just give us a warning.”

“You were running pretty hard, Auruo. Almost like you were scared.”

He scoffed. _“_ I’m never scared.”

“Uh huh.”

He scowled at her, and she couldn’t help but to find it slightly adorable. “I’m not!”

“I think you’re full of it. Come on,” she said before he could retort, gently taking his arm. “I want to get something to eat.”

He offered no argument, so they abandoned the safe darkness of the alley and stepped into the market, and the open sunlight. She craned around nervously for any hint of their pursuing guards but they were nowhere to be seen, so with a sigh she slipped into the teeming market crowd, with Auruo close behind.

It took her a half hour of browsing the various shops and stalls to figure out what she wanted, and in the meantime she savored the commotion; the sounds of barkers and the midday bell, the scent of cooking bread and potatoes, of herbs and flowers. Though it brought a small lump to her throat, she enjoyed the sight of a family walking together, the father with a tiny girl on his shoulders and the mother wearing fond smile. A group of giggling children dashed underfoot, and as she watched the leader held up some gnarled thing over his head as if it was an offering to some cruel, pagan god.

“Geez,” Auruo muttered when they passed.

She shook her head and smiled.

In the end, she and Auruo pooled what little was left over from their weekly earnings and Auruo’s savings for a small pouch of sugared walnuts. So provisioned, they left the market and made for one of their favorite haunts; a wide alley surrounded by one-story warehouses, just far enough away from the commotion that they could hear themselves talk.

Petra perched on her favorite barrel and Auruo clambered after her, popping a few walnuts in his mouth and chewing with relish. “I thought about these fuckin’ things all week,” he said, grinning.

She elbowed him. “Language.”

“You gotta give it a rest sometime, Petra,” he said. “I talk the way I talk ‘cause I like it. ‘Cause it suits me.”

“It doesn’t suit you at all,” she said, her nose in the air. “You try to talk like a thug and you’re not. You’re the opposite of a thug.”

“How’s that.”

“You’re sweet. And don’t ‘ugh’ me; you are. You bring home presents for your brothers. You cheer me up when I’m sad.”

“You saying thugs can’t be nice to the people they like?”

“I’m saying you’re too nice to be a thug, yes.”

“Maybe not,” he said, his grin acquired a dangerous edge. “I  _did_  break the law today.”

“You said earlier just that looking wasn’t breaking the law.”

He shrugged, grabbing another handful of walnuts. “Well, it isn’t. But trespassing is, probably.”

She rounded on him and snatched the pouch away from his grasping hand. “Auruo Bossard, I will smack you into yesterday!”

“Don’t even fuckin’ pretend you didn’t know that,” he fired back. “I saw your face when we were running. You were having the time of your life. You wanted a little trouble, and you got it.” His smirk had achieved its full sardonic edge. “You’re a thug too.”

“That’s not funny.”

He snickered. “If only your dad knew what a troublemaker you are, Petra Ral. He’d never recover. The illusion would be shattered.”

“I’m not a troublemaker.”

“You are the worst kind of troublemaker.”

“Yeah? And what kind is that?”

He popped a walnut in his mouth and chewed with insouciant glee. “The kind that doesn’t think she is.”

“If I’m a troublemaker it’s because you’re a bad influence.”

“What a load of bullshit!” He laughed so loudly that a flock of birds above them took off in a flurry of wingbeats and angry twittering. “You were looking for trouble before you even met me. You met me  _because_ you were looking for trouble. You want to dedicate your life to getting  _into_ trouble. Don’t even think about pinning this on me, Petra.”

When he put it like that, she couldn’t really argue. She nibbled on the edge of a walnut, vastly irritated with him and how adorable she still found him. “Well, anyway. You shouldn’t use that kind of language.”

“Why not.”

“Because it’s ugly and mean. Do you talk like that in French? You know, with your family?”

He shot her a distinctly grumpy look. “No … not as much, I guess.”

“So you should always talk like you talk around your family.”

“So nothing like myself; got it.”

She sighed, annoyed. He could be so stubborn when he had a mind to be, which was most days. In fact, she imagined the only time he wasn’t a stubborn idiot was when he slept, and even then she could see him insisting on his position to whatever figments occupied that hard head of his.

With a sidelong glance, she popped the rest of the half-chewed nuts into her mouth. “Why don’t you and your family speak French when I come over?”

His expression became incredulous. “Because you don’t speak French?”

“Well, I know that. But I just thought … I mean, when I’m not around, you only speak French with your family, in your house.”

“That’s right.”

“So it’s just strange to me. No one ever slips up, not even your little brothers.”

“It’s not that strange, Petra,” he said, pushing a stubborn lock of hair out of his eyes. “It’d be pretty fuckin’ rude if we carried on in French with you around. Like shutting you out. That’s a shitty way to treat a guest.” He frowned. “Does that bother you?”

She dropped her gaze to her shoes. “Yeah, a little.”

“Why?!”

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you do. Come on.”

She steeled herself for the truth. “It’s like I’m an imposition. Like if I didn’t show up and bother you, you’d just keep on speaking a certain way. And you’re going out of your way to accommodate me.”

He stared at her with an expression she could not read; one that was a lot like irritation, but the word failed to capture the almost tender look in his eyes. “You would be bothered by that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you’re not an imposition. Alright?”

She fell silent for a brief moment, slightly mollified. “If you say so.”

“I do.” And to her relief, he grinned again. “Geez. It’s good you come around and give the brats a chance to speak and hear German. Otherwise they’d have a weird accent like I did.”

“You don’t have a weird accent.”

“That you know of.”

“But you don’t!”

He tossed another handful of walnuts in his mouth. “I used to. When I was a brat. ‘Cause I came up speaking French first and learned German second, so at first it sounded a little weird when I spoke it.”

“Weird how?”

He shook his head. “Nope. No way.”

“Come on,” she said, shaking his arm. “I won’t laugh.”

“You will so, you fuckin’ liar. I can’t even do it right anymore. I speak German like a professional.”

“You speak German like a jerk.”

His lips twisted; in annoyance or against a grin, she couldn’t tell. But after a moment, he sighed and she knew she had won. “I kend of spook leke thes.”

She knew she had promised not to laugh, but the thought of five year old Auruo speaking in such a ridiculous, earnest way brought a wild giggle to her lips. She covered her mouth to stifle it, but he’d heard. “I knew you’d laugh.”

“I’m not laughing!” she managed, swallowing the laughter. “It’s just … it’s very cute.”

“Ugh.”

“I’m serious!”

“It was kind of a pain. They do a better job balancing both with the brats now, but for me they were just trying to figure it out as they went along. My parents, I mean. And they figured it was more important to teach French first, since German isn’t in any danger of dying out.”

“No, it makes sense,” Petra assured him. “And it’s very interesting. I’m a bit jealous.”

“Why?”

“It’s a very beautiful language,” she said. “Even though I’m pretty sure you were swearing at your Mom this morning, it sounded lovely.”

A bit of color rose in his cheeks, and he shrugged. “I was just telling her to leave me alone because I was sleeping.”

“And it sounded beautiful. Much more beautiful than you saying it in German, anyway.”

“Dad would be pleased that you think so,” Auruo smirked. “He’s a bit biased toward French, obviously.”

She plucked a walnut out of the pouch and ate it with relish. “I don’t blame him.”

Auruo had been about to reply when a noise at the entrance of the alley startled them both. He whipped around first, and she saw his expression curdle into one of extreme, nearly incendiary dislike. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me,” he muttered.

When she caught sight of the intruder, she understood; it was Thomas, grinning at the two of them like a predator who had found its next meal. Thomas was somewhat notorious in their neighborhood for being an aspiring thug, and he had the physique to support this proclivity. He was only a few years older than them, but already he was nearly twice Auruo’s size and possessed with none of his principles.

Auruo stood, his fists balled at his side. “Go away, Thomas.”

Thomas looked over his shoulder before striding into the alley. “Well, hey there, Bossard. It’s been awhile, huh?”

“Auruo,” she warned quietly. “He likes to bait you. He’ll leave you alone if you just ignore him.”

“Are you insane--?!” he hissed.

“Just --!”

“Shh!”

“What are you shits hissing about, huh?” Thomas asked, and a flash of something dark and terrifying crossed his broad features.

“Nothing,” Petra said quickly, pushing Auruo toward the mouth of the alley. “How are you today, Thomas?”

“Oh, doing alright,” Thomas said. “Or I was.”

“That’s too bad.”

“It’s too bad that I’m doing alright?” He leaned down until his face was inches from theirs, and a stab of fear shot through her gut, twisted it into knots.

“That’s not what she meant and you know it, asshole,” Auruo snapped. “Leave us alone.”

“You’re pretty rude, Bossard. I’m just talking. We’re all friends here, right?”

“Right.”

Thomas smirked, and it was nothing like Auruo’s grins – how they could be smug or delighted, but never mean-spirited. There was nothing  _but_ malice in Thomas’s grin. “You know, you two crack me up.”

Auruo’s lips curled in a grimace. “That’s nice.”

She couldn’t explain it then, but she got an odd feeling – the way she sometimes felt before it rained, or before her father plied her with another one of his lectures. She gripped Auruo’s wrist and gently tugged him forward, and after a moment he obliged. “We really have to get going, Thomas” she said politely. “It was nice talking to you.”

Thomas was undeterred. “That’s what I’m talking about; that right there. You crack me up, Bossard.”

She felt Auruo slow, and she pulled him onward. “Yeah, okay,” he said, and she wondered if he was speaking to her or Thomas.

“Like I get you’re probably desperate for some tight, dripping cunt given the way you look, but I think even you could do better.”

This time she froze. A cascade of humiliation knotted her stomach and shivered in her thoughts; for one horrible, bare moment, she couldn’t breathe. Auruo rounded on the larger boy. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“I’m saying she’s ugly.” Thomas shrugged with a cruel smirk. “Take it from me; you want a bitch with some meat on her bones. Some tits and ass to grab. You don’t wanna fuck some knobby, speckled skeleton, and that’s a fucking ugly skeleton you got there, Bossard.”

In some distant corner of her mind, she knew it was a half-conceived taunt to them both, since they were nothing more than friends, but this logic was quickly overridden by the swirling chorus of doubt that made its home in her thoughts. She knew she was skinny and ugly. While the rest of the girls her age were beautiful and curvy and graceful, she was straight and bony and flat as a board. And most days she was okay with it, because there were more important things for a person to be, but sometimes she’d stare at herself in the mirror and wish for a different body – for skin that wasn’t freckled and curves that were less a suggestion and more reality. And to hear everything she hated about herself so callously confirmed brought shameful tears to her eyes.

“Take it back,” Auruo spat furiously. “I mean it, you piece of shit!”

“Auruo, c-c-come on,” she whispered. “Let’s g-go.”

He craned back to study her face, and his hazel eyes widened in horror. He saw her tears, and saw her hurt, and almost faster than she could mark his shock gave way to rage she had never seen from him before, fury she hadn’t known he possessed.

Before she could stop him, he yanked his arm out of her grip and launched himself at the larger boy. They toppled to the ground in a tangle of flailing limbs. She heard a crack as Auruo's fist sank into the massive boy's nose.

“Auruo!” she cried. 

She could hardly make sense of the fight; they moved too quickly. At first she thought somehow Auruo had gotten the upper hand, but it quickly became apparent that he was outmatched; his speed and fury were nothing compared to Thomas’s strength.

“Stop!” she shouted, rushing forward and pulling at the larger boy. But she was small, he was nearly twice her size; he shoved her away with so much force that she sprawled to the ground. He pummeled Auruo as if he was born to it, his fists sinking into any part that he could reach, and Auruo fought with the same careless, furious abandon. It quickly became brutal; Auruo sunk his fingers into Thomas’s eyes, and he retaliated by hurling Auruo away with so much force that he skidded into a stack of crates.

She caught a glimpse of his bloodied, swollen face, and a furious sense of purpose came over her. While they scrapped, she dug through the detritus until she found a small, yet surprisingly solid wooden rod. She lifted it over her head and advanced on Thomas. He grabbed Auruo by the scruff of his bloodstained shirt and pummeled him again and again, and yet still Auruo fought. Kicking at Thomas, flailing for purchase. He wouldn’t stop until the larger boy killed him.

She was not about to let that happen.

She drew back. Her blood was buzzing, lips pulled back. With a wordless cry, she surged to her feet and smacked the back of Thomas’ head with as much force she could muster. And watched, with vicious satisfaction, as the larger boy keeled over, clutching the back of his head.

Without sparing a moment, she hauled Auruo to his feet and left Thomas moaning in the alley. Her blood buzzed with such a potent mix of adrenaline and anger that she thought she could tear down the Walls herself, and dismantle any Titan that stood in her way. She may be ugly, but she was powerful. She was  _strong._

She was strong and  _furious._ When they were a safe distance away from the scene of the brawl, she spun Auruo around, gripping his shaking shoulders. “What the hell were you doing?!” she cried. “I told you to ignore him! He was – he was just trying to get a rise out of you! What the hell did you do that for, huh?”

She expected him to duck his head, but he stared at her with a resolute gaze she hardly recognized. “He made you cry,” was all he said.

“Of course he did; he was trying to! He just wanted an excuse to fight, you idiot!”

“I—geez, Petra,” Auruo muttered. “I wasn’t thinking, alright? Did it seem like I was thinking to you? I just saw you – and I just – I’ve never been so mad in my life. I don’t know! I wanted to stuff that fuckin’ shit back in his goddamn mouth! I … I wanted him to be sorry that he’d even thought of saying that shit about you.”

She froze. “What?”

“What the fuck did you think my problem was?” he demanded incredulously. “You think I care if people insult me? I mean – yeah, I guess I care, but I’ve been dealing with it for years. I’m not about to knock their fuckin’ heads off for it. But – but you … I just … you –“ He trailed off, shaking his head. “I dunno what came over me.”

It wasn’t a secret that Auruo cared about her. They’d been close friends for over two years; nearly inseparable, in fact. She told him everything, and he told her everything (or at least more than he shared with anyone else). But she’d had no idea that the depth of his feelings went so far, and that he cared more about her than he did himself. A swell of affection settled in her chest, made itself a home there.

She swallowed the lump in the back of her throat. “You – God, Auruo. He could have killed you. You can’t just charge ahead and do stuff like that without thinking first, okay? You could – you could really get hurt.” Her lip trembled, and she bit it fiercely. “I don’t want that, okay?”

His shoulders slumped under her trembling fingers. “Yeah, alright,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ll, uh … keep a handle on it. Or try to.” He looked back up at her, and she couldn’t be exactly sure because his cheeks were streaked with dirt and blood, but she thought she saw a blush there. “That fuckin’ asshole is wrong, by the way.”

“What?”

He seemed to steel himself. “He’s wrong. You’re not ugly, alright? You’re just … you’re not.”

Her eyes filled with tears again. She cared about this stupid boy more than anything, and as much as he hated to hear it, she couldn’t help herself. “You really are sweet, Auruo.”

Predictably, his cheeks darkened and he ducked his head. “Ugh. It’s – it’s not sweet telling the truth. Just – for fuck’s sake –“

Before he could say another word, she threw her arms around his neck and held him tightly. To his credit, he allowed the contact without his usual reticence, sagging slightly into her embrace.

“Geez,” she heard him mutter, and she almost laughed then.

She broke away first. “Let me clean you up, okay? My dad probably isn’t home yet.”

“Yeah, alright,” he mumbled, pinching his bloodied nose. “It’s not as bad as it looks, probably.”

She tugged on his wrist, gently as ever. “Yeah, I know.”

She thought as they made their way through the familiar serpentine neighborhood, that this afternoon something had changed. At first he had felt the same in her arms, but there was a larger feeling suffusing her limbs, buzzing in her thoughts. She didn’t know what it was, and at that moment she didn’t care. At the moment, she took comfort in the confirmation that she mattered to him, just as much as he mattered to her.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Auruo wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He had grown accustomed to the ache in his back and shoulders after a shift, but today he didn't think any pain could touch him. Today, he looked out the high windows of the mill to the horizon, streaked with the pink of sunset, and felt his heart lift. After four years of working at the steel mill, he was free. Tomorrow was his sixteenth birthday. Tomorrow, he and Petra would finally enlist.

He waited for the end of shift bell, his entire body buzzing with unbearable anticipation. He lifted on the balls of his feet like a sprinter in anticipation. At this moment, he thought that he'd even be able to outrun Petra, the fastest person alive. He decided he would try tomorrow, and imagined the look on her face. 

And there it was; the bell. With a grin, he pushed back the heat visor and stripped his protective gloves, turning on his heel and bursting through the door into the busy streets. He couldn't keep himself from running, pushing himself faster, weaving around passers-by like a bird finally freed from its cage. He nearly bit through his tongue trying to keep from laughing aloud.

"Maniac," someone muttered. The word hardly touched him.

That night he could hardly sit still enough to eat or interact with his family, or even react to the typical craziness of his home. He now had four little brothers with a fifth on the way (a fact that he would have found embarrassing if he didn't love those little brats). All throughout dinner Benoit and Christophe sat at his feet and pulled at his pant leg until he acquiesced, hauling them up into his lap and bouncing them on his knees.

"It's your birthday!" Benoit said, pulling on his arm.

"Tomorrow," Auruo reminded him.

"Cake!" screeched Christophe.

"Cake  _tomorrow,"_  Auruo said, grinning.

Benoit stopped pulling on Auruo's arm and looked up at him with wide eyes. "Is Petra coming over?"

He'd said the only word that could distract Christophe from the prospect of imminent cake. "Petra?"

"Yeah, tomorrow," Auruo said.

"Tomorrow now?" Christophe wanted to know.

Auruo poked him in the stomach, and he giggled. "It's not tomorrow until you go to sleep and wake up."

He hadn't been surprised to find that each of his brothers had taken a liking to Petra, who in the last few years had become a constant fixture in their home. Maybe she was right, and she really did have a way with kids. His father liked to joke that she had a way with Bossards, which at the time had embarrassed him so badly he couldn't speak for a full minute. Petra found it hilarious, of course, and elbowed him from under the table until he laughed too.

After dinner, he helped put his brothers to bed. Benoit and Christophe wouldn't stop wiggling with excitement and Auruo had to tell them three stories to get them to calm down long enough for them to fall asleep. Didier and Étienne went down easier. Étienne was too young to understand everything that he said, but the sound of his voice was enough to finish the job, and out of his brothers Didier was by far the quietest and easiest to calm.

Auruo left their room to find his parents washing dishes, his mother wiping at her eyes before turning around to face him. "Oh, Auruo. Help me with this, would you?" she asked him, her voice thick.

 _Ah, shit._ He knew they were about to have the same conversation they'd had daily for the last six months, as the last day he'd be eligible to enlist drew closer. "Sure, ma," he said, shrugging. Maybe if he did his work quietly, she wouldn't bring it up.

That hope lasted about five minutes, after which she turned to face him, her red eyes wide. "Do you really have to do this?" she whispered.

"Yeah," he said, gently as he could.

"You do good work at the mill. You're helping there just as much as you would in the Survey Corps."

"It's not the same," he said, scrubbing a food encrusted plate. "We talked about this, remember?"

"I don't understand why you think you have to do this," she said, staring at her hands.

He resisted the urge to sigh, since he had lost count of how many times he'd explained it. "Because I get paid good money on a soldier's salary, and I could finally pay for you all to live in a nice house. You know, a house where five boys don't have to all sleep in the same room."

"I don't care about that," his mother said. "I want you to stay home, where it's safe."

He hated these appeals, hated having to look his weeping mother in the eye and tell her that his place wasn't in a safe home behind the Walls, but out in the dangerous world, making it better for the people he cared about. But every time he tried to put this sentiment into words, he just got upset and started yelling, so instead he looked down at his feet, scuffing the dirty floors. "It's not like you'll never see me again," he said. "Trainees get some time off to see family every couple months."

"I'm not worried about that," she snapped. "God knows you'll do fine there. You'll distinguish yourself and run off to the Survey Corps, and get yourself killed thinking you're some big hero. Just think about what it'd do to me, if that happened. What it'd do to your father, your brothers."

"Ma," he said quietly. "Stop. Making me feel like shit is not going to change my mind."

"Just tell me  _why,"_  she begged.

"Because things could be better, and they won't get any better if people are afraid to do anything about it," he said, starting to get upset. "Because I'm not gonna wait around for the Titans to finish us all off, and I don't want to see my family crushed and eaten because I was like every other coward happy to just screw off with his thumb up his ass while pretending nothing is wrong."

She was so upset she didn't address the foul language. "But the Walls—"

"Oh, god! The Walls, the Walls. The Walls are bullshit, Ma," he said, throwing up his hands. "Wouldn't you like to live in a place without walls? I know I would!"

He didn't wait for her to reply; he threw down the dishtowel and stalked off to his room. Even though he was mad enough to spit glass, he couldn't slam the door – his brothers were sleeping, and the last thing he wanted was to wake them up and have to calm them down again. He contented himself with pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, hard enough that he saw only darkness cut by whirling geometric shapes.

There was a very small, uncharitable corner of his heart that was looking forward to leaving. He would miss his family terribly, but at the same time as a Cadet he wouldn't have to sit through nightly brow-beating over his life choices. Theoretically, anyway.

Auruo pulled off his shirt and collapsed onto his bed, pawing at his messy hair in a futile attempt to smooth it flat. He heard his father speaking in a low voice, and his mother's tearful reply an octave higher. He didn't know what upset him more – that she managed to make his decisions all about her, or that she had so little faith in him that she acted like he was dead already.  _Not everyone in the Survey Corps dies their first day, you know!_ he thought angrily.

He heard blankets rustling and little feet padding across the floor, and then the next thing he knew a warm, wriggly little body had clambered up in bed with him, snuggling under his arm. "Why is Mom crying?" Benoit asked.

"Everything makes her cry these days," Auruo said heavily. "'Cause she's having another baby."

"What's that got to do with it?"

Auruo shrugged. "It just happens every time."

Benoit was quiet, poking at Auruo's side with sticky fingers. "She doesn't want you to go."

"Why'd you ask why she was crying if you already knew the answer?"

"Dunno," Benoit said. His little chin wobbled. "I don't want you to go."

It was a lot harder to yell at his little brother – who followed him around like a lost puppy, who was almost seven going on thirty, already trying to be so brave at an age when no one should have to. He pulled Benoit closer and pinched him. "It's not forever, Benny."

"Uh huh," Benoit sniffed. "You'll forget all about me."

"I could  _never_ forget about you," Auruo said. "You're my first little brat brother."

But Benoit was not comforted. "I don't want you to forget me," he said tremulously, burying his face in Auruo's side.

 _Ah, geez._ Auruo swallowed the tightness growing in his throat. "Hey, look. Every week I'll write you a letter, okay? And then you write me one back. I'll tell you everything that happens, and you tell me everything that happens, so it'll almost be like I'm here and you're there. Okay?"

Benoit mulled this over. "I can't read and write good yet."

"Then it'll be good practice," Auruo said. "Come on, Benny. It's gonna be all right."

Finally Benoit nodded, rubbing his eyes with his fists. "Okay."

"And while I'm gone, you're gonna be the oldest, so you have to look out for all our brothers. Especially the new baby. All right?" Auruo nodded seriously. "It's a very important job. You're the only one who can do it."

"You'll always be the oldest," Benoit said, nose wrinkling.

"Yeah, but you'll be  _acting_ oldest," Auruo explained. "You got to be patient when Christophe steals your toys and when Étienne cries all night. And you have to be patient with Mom and Dad too, even when they annoy or embarrass you." He grinned. "You'll probably do better at that part than I do."

After a moment, Benoit broke into a grin. Auruo's impatience when it came to their parents was almost a running joke between them at this point. "Anyone'd be better at it than you."

"Well, geez! Try and be nice to my brat little brother and this is what I get." He poked Benoit in the ribs until the younger boy snickered, wiggling so hard that Auruo had to grab him to keep him from falling off the bed.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Benoit asked, hugging Auruo tighter around the middle.

"Sure, Benny. But if you start kicking me again I'm dumping you on the floor."

"Noo!"

"I mean it, you little brat." He didn't really.

Benoit quickly fell asleep after that, but Auruo remained awake, watching the stars through the open window. A breeze swept through the room, tousling his hair and cooling his skin. An odd feeling filled him, increasing as he looked down at his brother and the worried little crease between his brows.

He hadn't expected this to be easy. He knew it was going to be a sacrifice. Three years in training, and then a lifetime in the Survey Corps. But every time he thought about his life and future in selfish terms, like his mother so desperately wanted him to do, he remembered the Titans on the other side of the walls, and how every year it seemed like their world got smaller and smaller.

He didn't want that for his family. He wanted them to live in an open place without walls, without the threat of total extermination hanging over their heads. He didn't want that for Petra either, the brightest person he knew. The best, the loveliest. A thousand other superlatives.

"Auruo!" someone hissed from below the open window. His heart leapt.

"Petra?"

Her moonlit face peeked up from below the windowsill, and the instant she caught sight of him a huge smile curved her lips. "Happy birthday, weirdo."

"What are you doing?!"

"I couldn't sleep," she said, and without asking she clambered onto the window ledge, perching there with grace that wasn't possible for normal people. Her smile faded as she took in the sight of him, her gaze drifting down to his chest. "Why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

 _Oh my god._ He'd totally forgotten. "It's hot tonight!" he said defensively, his face burning with shame.

She wasn't convinced. " _Shh!"_

"You shh!" he retorted, scowling. "You're the one screeching about my shirt." He considered her, the familiar fear coiling in his stomach. "You know you gotta stop doing this, right? The streets around here are rough."

She didn't dignify this with a response. Her gaze trailed over Benoit's sleeping form, who was still curled into Auruo's side. Her expression softened. "Separation anxiety?"

He sighed. "Yeah."

"Well, I won't get in the way, then."

"Nah, it's all right. Just hold on." He carefully disentangled himself from Benoit's arms and pulled a shirt off the floor, yanking it over his head before climbing into the window and settling next to her. She threw her elbow into his side, and this time he almost broke the silence with a yelp of pain – her elbows were sharper than knives.

"Like I said," she smirked. "Happy birthday, weirdo."

"You're the weirdo," he shot back, but he grinned too.

After four years of friendship, bickering, and assorted adventures, he could honestly say that Petra Ral was the most important person in his life, and in fact he couldn't imagine a life without her in it. They'd spent every Sunday together for the last four years, and most weeks she'd even come by for dinner or slip into his room in the middle of the night, where they'd talk until the sun came up. He'd seen her sick, seen her hurt, seen her laugh so hard that she'd snorted, water shooting out of her nose. And it was the same for her; she'd seen him at his worst and had somehow not gotten sick of him yet. He adored her.

He loved her.

But it was complicated, because she wasn't the adorable eleven-year old girl that had crash-landed in his life anymore. Now, she was beautiful in a different way, and he often found himself noticing things that he had not noticed before; the curve of her back, breasts that had not been there last year, the graceful way her wrists tapered into slim hands, the slight hollow at her collarbone, the pale skin of her neck and the way sometimes her fingers would lightly brush there.

He'd choke on his tongue before he said anything, of course. She probably didn't have any idea how deeply her physical presence affected him these days – there was no intent in the way she moved. She came by it naturally.

But that didn't change that the entire affair was inconvenient, and often humiliating. He knew that if she could read his mind she'd be horrified. She'd probably find his inexplicable fascination a betrayal and never speak to him again, which was the last thing he wanted. So he resolved to pretend these odd feelings did not exist. But sometimes she would lean close and her sudden proximity would stun him. She would touch his hand and he wouldn't be able to breathe.

"You look kind of upset," she said finally. "Your mom still giving you a hard time?"

He sighed. "It's like the closer enlistment day gets, the harder she pushes me to stay. 'What if you die, think about what it'll do to us.' That kind of thing."

"I've thought about that a lot," Petra said, her voice soft. "It's just … I don't know. I wish they understood we were doing this for them."

"Right, exactly," he said, trying not to smile. She always understood him so well. "I think she'll come around. When I don't die on my first expedition."

"You sure won't," she said, shooting him a sly grin. "Not with me watching your back."

"Except I'm pretty sure we've established it's gonna be  _me_ watching out for  _you."_

She rolled her eyes. "You know, I came over to give you your birthday present, but if you're going to be ridiculous I think I'll just give it to Benoit."

"That'd probably cheer him up," Auruo said, looking over his shoulder at the sleeping boy still curled around the place he'd been on the mattress.

"As sweet as I think that is," she said, smirking when he made a wordless sound of outrage, "this present isn't really appropriate for a six year old."

He suddenly imagined her leaning forward, her hand on his thigh, her lips – he pushed the vision away, furious with himself, and cleared his throat. "Should I be scared?" he said.

"No, of course not," she said, and she rummaged through the pocket of her dress until she'd produced an object wrapped in linen. Gently, she placed it in his upturned hands, her smile expectant. "Go on!"

He didn't immediately; instead he studied her face, enjoying her enthusiasm. They had never exchanged gifts before, and he wondered how she'd come by the money to wrangle it. Skimming off her wages, probably. Gently, he folded back the linen.

"It's a knife," he said.

"It's one of those knives," she explained. "Last time we watched the Scouting Legion leave, I saw that the Commander had one. It won't be much use against Titans, but ... well you never know." Like daylight shifting to clouds, she was suddenly intense as she looked at him, her gaze sharp as the blade in his hands. "I'd rather you have it and not need it than the other way around."

He couldn't speak. He didn't think she'd ever regard him the way he did her, with love so large it often felt like the sun had lodged itself in his chest, but that she regarded him as worth consideration at all was beyond his ability to describe. "Thanks," he murmured, turning the knife over in his hands. The pommel was as smooth to touch as skin.

She shrugged, and her easy smile was back. "Oh, it's not a big deal. I just saw it and knew you'd like it."

And he did like it; he liked the idea of being prepared outside the Wall, of being able to handle anything that came at him. "You know this means I'm going to have to get you something for your birthday too."

He was surprised to see a flash of concern cross her expression, and realized too late that she'd refuse on principle. "I don't need gifts. You don't have to go out of your way." _Beyond your means_ , she didn't say, because she was kind.  

"Shit, Petra. How about you let me decide that, huh?" 

She watched him careful for a long time, her eyes inscrutable. Finally, she said, "You've wanted to?"

"Well, yeah." He shrugged, uncomfortable. "I know you well enough for it."

"You think so?"

"Sure do." 

"Well, then I look forward to what you give me with eager anticipation," she said. "But I'm pretty sure I'll win this one."

"How could you know that, I haven't even given you anything yet," he retorted. "And why is this suddenly a competition?"

"Because they're fun," she said, smirking. "Because you get too wound up over it."

"And you don't?!"

"Not like you."

"What  _bullshit!_ Who's the one who gets so wrapped up in our races? Not me!"

"You don't because you know you'll lose."

He shot her a dangerous grin. "You know, Petra, it's been awhile since we had a race. Maybe it's time for you to back up your boasting for once."

Her eyes flashed. "I won't go easy on you because it's your birthday."

"When do you ever go easy on me?"

"All the time."

This wasn't true and they both knew it. Petra was just as intense and competitive as he could be, if not more so, and her pity did not manifest in throwing competitions in his favor. He decided not to dignify this with a response. "I'll see you tomorrow, Petra. Make sure you get your rest. You'll need it."

"Oh, am I being dismissed now?" she asked him, sly. "Better trundle off, then." She hopped off the windowsill and straightened her dress with prim, efficient movements. But before he could slide back into his room, she reached out and touched his arm. "You better make sure you get  _your_  rest, Auruo.  _You'll need it."_

He tried not to jump at her touch, at the feel of her fingers on his bare arm. "Tch. Get out of here before you wake up my brothers."

She squeezed his arm once, and then she was gone. He saw the hem of her dress whipping out of sight as she rounded the corner and sped down the street; he could hear her footsteps echoing off the streets as she ran, faster than a streak of light, faster than anything.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been reading and sending me nice messages re: this story. Your support keeps me going! 
> 
> Just a quick note -- the song Auruo sings is called Á la Claire Fontaine (at the clear fountain) and there's a few really nice renditions on youtube!

Petra woke with the sunrise. Typically she was an energetic riser – it was common for her to wake before even the birds that roosted in the attic - but today she nearly flew out of bed. She dressed and braided her hair carelessly, tucking her blouse into the waist of her skirt without really paying attention to what she was doing.

She and Auruo had reached a point in their friendship where she'd started looking forward to his birthdays more than her own. It  _was_  a significant day, for a lot of reasons. It was the anniversary of the day they met, and a day where she had a legitimate excuse to hang around his house, playing with his brothers and chatting with his parents, all of whom she adored. And today, during the last enlistment week this year, they would finally join the army.

Her father was already awake, and he smiled when she walked into the kitchen. "Morning, sunshine."

"Dad," she sighed. "Don't call me that." But she pressed a kiss to the top of his head anyway.

She plowed through breakfast, scarfing two rolls and a rare glass of milk and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She stoutly ignored her father's bemused expression, partly because she had no intention of entertaining a debate today and partly because she was so impatient to get to the river that she was incapable of keeping herself still and controlled. Her entire body had become a conduit for her excitement, and she couldn't contain it.

As she reached for the door, her father broke the silence. "Your skirt is inside out," he said mildly.

So it was – the seam hanging out for all to see. She squeaked and ran back to her room.

 _Hurry up, hurry up._ She didn't know why she felt so driven to leave this morning, only that it was imperative she leave as quickly as possible. But as she stepped out of her skirt and turned it right side in, she heard a tentative knock on the door.  _Oh no._

Her father opened the door. "Yes?"

"Oh, Mr. Ral. Um … is Petra home?"

Auruo, of course.  _No, no, no._ She quickly fastened her skirt and burst out into the kitchen, beaming at them both. "Here, sorry!"

Auruo's expression was a study in adorable relief. "Hey."

Her father's, on the other hand, could have sundered the Walls themselves.

For some reason, her father had formed a resoundingly negative opinion of Auruo. Every Sunday he would grumble under his breath about that strange, disagreeable boy and how she spent too much time with him. The few times they'd interacted almost always ended in disaster, and it was a disaster Petra had no desire to repeat this morning.

"See you later, Dad," she said, giving her father a quick peck on the cheek before pushing Auruo gently out the door.

"Bossard," her father said, his voice almost unfamiliar in its severity. "I need to speak to you."

_Oh no._

Auruo faced her father, his back ramrod straight. She noticed the flicker of discomfort that crossed his expression only because she knew him so well. "Yes, sir."

"Despite my best efforts, my daughter has decided to join the military, and she's told me you intend to do so as well."

Auruo nodded. "Yes, sir."

Her father seemed to struggle, as if forcing himself to overcome his great personal dislike of the boy standing at her side. "I want you to swear to me that you'll look out for her," he said between his teeth. "That'll you'll do everything you can to keep her safe."

 _Oh, god._ She could see the battle play out on his face; Auruo's need to be accepted by her father conflicting with something he found offensive and stupid. She resisted the urge to jam her elbow into his ribs.  _Just smile, say yes sir, for the love of all that's good –_

But of course this was Auruo, and his big mouth won out over common sense. He looked at her father with that serious, stubborn expression she had come to know so well. "Not that I won't do everything I can, but you know Petra can take care of herself, right?"

She bit back a groan when she saw her father's jaw drop – in anger, or at the sheer audacity of what Auruo had said. Before anyone could make another sound she seized Auruo by the elbow, her fingers digging into his arm so tightly that he yelped. "Gotta go, bye Dad!" she positively screeched, hauling Auruo out of her house and half-running, half-dragging him down the street.

"You just  _had_ to say what you were thinking," she chastised him. "Couldn't keep your mouth shut. Had to be a big hero."

"Well, yeah! Does he even  _know_ you?!" Auruo asked. "And for crying out loud, let go of my arm!"

"He just wants to know I'll be all right!"

"He thinks you're this wilting little flower," Auruo said in a snotty voice. "He's clearly never had his arm crushed by you before."

"Keep being a jerk and I'll do more than crush your arm!"

"Ah, geez! Will you calm the fuck down?!"

"I told you stop using that language!" She glared up at him. "Sometimes you're unbelievable! Every time we have this conversation you go out of your way to tell me that I'm going to need Big Strong You to look out for me, but the second my dad,  _who is obviously distraught and worried about me,_ asks you to do exactly that, you throw it back in his face!"

He yanked his arm out of her grip, his face a furious red. "Do you think I'm being serious when I say you're going to need me to look out for you?!"

"Well, aren't you?"

" _NO!"_

She blinked, too stunned to be angry. "What?"

"For crying out loud, Petra! When we met I was the one getting my ass kicked, and  _you_ were the one who came to my fucking rescue! Or did you forget?"

"Of course not!"

"So I don't understand what the big surprise here is.  _That's the joke._ We're going to join the Cadets, and you're going to … you're going to be amazing! I already know it. I knew it right away, when you were chomping at the bit to give those assholes what was coming to them. That's why it pissed me off, what your dad said. I know he's worried, I know that's part of it, and I get it! I really do. But … I just don't think he sees you clearly sometimes."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Like, I think he honestly believes that you're going to struggle and you won't be able to handle it, so better ask the dumb, scrawny boy you're always hanging around to step up and keep his sunshine safe. Like you're not your own person but this untouchable delicate little treasure that's going to get smashed if no one's looking after it. And it just pissed me off _._  I'm sorry."

"So I'm not some untouchable delicate treasure," she said, frowning.

"Not like that. God, Petra. You're the toughest person I know. And scariest, sometimes."

She craned up to look at him. "So I'm an untouchable treasure in some other way?"

He blushed so badly that the tips of his ears turned red. "I'm not explaining this anymore. I'm sorry I pissed off your dad, okay?" He scuffed the ground and scowled. "Maybe one of these days I'll figure out how to keep my mouth shut."

"Probably not any day soon," she said, biting back a smile. Auruo could be insensitive and crass, and he possessed hardly any tact whatsoever, but through it shone his strange way of caring. She liked that he thought she was strong – that she was worthwhile and able, and not some bauble in need of protection. So she decided he was forgiven.

Auruo ran his fingers through his messy hair. "Your life would probably be a lot easier if he didn't hate my guts, but pretty sure I've burnt that bridge."

"He doesn't hate you."

"He does a damn good impression of it, then."

She looped her arm through his, and they continued on like that through the gate and to the river. "He's just upset about me leaving. There's probably a part of him that thinks you're responsible."

"You wanted to join the Survey Corps before you ever met me," Auruo pointed out.

"Maybe he forgot that," she said. "He does think I'm a lot better than I am."

"You  _are_  better," Auruo insisted. "Just not like he wants."

She frowned, digging her nails into the flesh of her thumb. All of this was true, in some form or another, but she felt guilty talking about her father like this behind his back. He was exacting and oblivious, of course, but he was also warm and loving. He heartily disproved of Auruo and yet still allowed her to see him as much as she wanted (though she knew he wouldn't be pleased if he discovered that she often went to see Auruo in the middle of the night, with only a hood for protection).

But the point was that her father loved her. He did everything he could for her. They were each other's only family.

"I'll shut up about it," Auruo said, watching her. Of course he'd read her mind – he'd gotten pretty good at sensing the minute shifts in her mood based on facial quirks alone, and she was even better at recognizing his.

"No, it's all right. I guess I just realized that he's going to be alone when I leave."

Auruo's expression was uncomfortable. "Yeah."

"It's different for your parents. I mean, not like your brothers will replace you or anything, but they still have a house full of kids. It's loud and alive, and your mom's going to have another baby soon, so there's always something going on. But it's easier to feel lonely when it's quiet, you know? And it's just going to be Dad, all alone in a quiet house."

"Maybe he'll get remarried?" Auruo said hopefully.

"I don't think so," she said. "I've tried bringing it up but he just gets so sad. He still misses my mom." She felt her lower lip trembling, and bit it hard.

Auruo was quiet for a long moment. "Do you want to stay?"

"That's the worst part;  _no._ I would hate myself if I did."

His expression had become serious. "We always knew this was going to be hard."

"Yeah," she said, holding his arm closer. "It's different, though. We're actually doing it today."

He said nothing, and she figured he was probably thinking about his own family. She remembered peeking in through his window to see Benoit's arms wrapped closely around Auruo waist, his little face pinched with unhappiness even in sleep, and how far away Auruo's gaze had been before he'd caught sight of her. He had looked so remote in that moment that she wondered if she'd ever be able to reach him, if he'd even be able to hear her voice. With an odd thrill, she remembered that he hadn't been wearing a shirt, and that his chest was surprisingly lean and well-muscled.  _Why is that surprising? He's worked at the steel mill for four years._ She shook away the thought, inexplicably embarrassed.

"Come on," she said. "We have a few hours before they open enlistment. I'd be really upset with myself if we spent your last birthday at home moping around."

"Who's moping?" he said, but he grinned.

They made their way through the village on the other side of Wall Rose. The streets here were considerably narrower than in Karanese, and most of the houses were home to farmers and craftsman. But it was beautiful, and in fact Petra got the feeling that the villagers here preferred to have the Wall at their back, with the pastoral landscape spread out before them. She could understand that desire; Karanese was a fine enough place to live, but she often fantasized about living in the country somewhere, maybe at the foot of a mountain with a clear river running right past her cottage.

She snuck a glance at Auruo from the corner of her eye. He'd stuffed his hands in his pockets, kicking at the dusty cobblestones, but he wore a content smile. She realized that he was humming a tune she'd only ever heard from him, in the rare times he let down his guard long enough to sing. She didn't know why he was so shy about it – he had one of the loveliest voices she'd ever heard.

To her delight, he began to sing in a low, clear tenor:

" _Il y a longtemps que je t'aime_ _  
__Jamais je ne t'oublierai."_

He broke off abruptly when he noticed her stare, his face flushing. "What?!"

"I wish you would sing more," she said. "You know you have a nice voice."

"Ugh," he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair.

"You do! If I could sing like you, I'd never shut up."

"You never shut up anyway."

She ignored the barb. "What do the words mean?"

His flush deepened. "I dunno."

"Yes, you do."

"I don't! Mom sings it, I just was tryin' to get it out of my head."

She shot him an incredulous look. "You know the problem with lying to me is that I know you extremely well, so I always know when you're lying."

"Is that so, huh? How do you  _always_ know?"

"You have a tell. And I'm not telling you what it is."

He sighed. "Of course you're not."

With the ease of habit, he slipped out of his shoes and passed them to her, and she hopped onto his back. She no longer watched the river apprehensively; she knew that Auruo would never drop her, that he was steady on his feet, and she was safe. She knew everything about his part in this ritual; the little huff of breath that escaped him as he steadied his hold on her, the strong planes of his back and the way the muscles there engaged when he gripped her tightly, the solitary freckle at the base of his neck peeking out from the collar of his shirt, just to the side of the bone. Her stomach gave another lurch as she looked at it; she'd always found it adorable, but today she was filled with the strange impulse to press her lips there.

 _What is wrong with you?!_ she thought frantically. _Stop being so weird, weirdo!_

When they reached the other side, she slid gratefully from his back, smoothing her skirt with nervous hands. He turned and faced her with a smug grin, and for one wild second she feared that he'd read her mind and found her odd preoccupation hilarious. "So I seem to remember you accepting my challenge last night," he said, and relief flooded her.

"It wasn't much of a challenge," she said.

"Well, geez! I thought maybe you'd be nice to me for just one day of my life, considering it's my birthday and all."

"Why would I want to do something like that?"

He drew a line in the dirt before straightening to his full height, his smirk widening. "Right. So we're establishing right now that you're not going to go easy on me."

"I never have and never will."

He seemed entirely too pleased by this, and she narrowed her eyes as she took her place behind the line. He was too obvious – she knew his face and expressions better than her own, and he clearly had something up his sleeve. There was no way he'd become a faster runner than her in the space of a week, since their last race and his total defeat. Yet he regarded her smugly, entirely too satisfied with himself.

Auruo sank into his position behind the line. "All right, then. You ready?"

"Ready when you are."

"You sure? You sure you're ready? Positive?"

"What are you-?"

"GO!"

He took off like a gunshot.

 _That little cheat! –_ It took her a full second to react before she broke into a dead sprint, driving herself harder than she ever had, but it was almost for nothing at this point; she watched with enraged dismay as he sprinted ahead, throwing up a small cloud of dust with each footfall. And she had to admit it now – he was a rotten cheat, but he wasn't that weedy little boy anymore, struggling to keep pace with her as she soared. He was tall and strong, and she had to push to her full speed to close the gap between them.

Despite her valiant effort, he still reached the tree first, if only by the very skin of his teeth. He let out a whoop, punching at the sky. "HA!" he cried. "Auruo Bossard, native son of Karanese District, in a landslide victory! Ladies and gentleman, what a finish. Truly inspired!"

She was so angry that it took her a moment to form words. "You – you –  _cheat!"_ she hissed.

He faced her, his expression comically wounded. " _Me? Cheat?_ Ladies and gentleman, this looks to be a clear case of sour grapes from the loser, Ms. Petra Ral." He tutted. "Such a shameful display."

"You took off before I was ready!"

"I asked you like five times if you were!"

"You completely broke the rules, I can't believe it!"

"What rules?!"

"You know what rules!" she screeched. " _There are rules!"_

He bit his lip against a grin. "I had no idea you were such a sore loser."

Her eye twitched. " _Sore … loser?"_

"I've been losing these races for years and you've never seen me act like this." He couldn't keep himself from grinning now, and the sight of his smug adorable face made her blood boil. "I can't believe it. Petra Ral, giant sore loser."

" _You're going to regret that,"_  she said. She took a step closer.

And only then did the smug smile leave his face. He held up his hands. "Petra, come on. It was a joke."

"Right, right. Just a joke." Another step.

His eyes went wide. "You're doing that scary thing again."

" _Good."_ She raised her hands, and the blood drained from his face. He knew what was coming. He knew there was no escape.

"Petra,  _don't,"_ he said, but it was too late; she took a running leap, tackled him to the ground, and jabbed her fingers into his ribs. It was something they'd done for ages, ever since she discovered he was ticklish by accidentally poking him in the side, and she would exploit this weakness whenever he did something to annoy her.  And he'd never annoyed her this much _._

He thrashed, laughing hysterically. "Augh! I take it back!"

"Take  _what_ back?"

"You're not a sore loser!" he wheezed, desperately trying to throw her off.

She grinned, already less annoyed. "And?"

"I'm a cheat!  _I can't breathe!"_

She desperately wanted to stay angry at his shenanigans, but instead she giggled. It didn't help that he was adorable, laughing so loudly that a flock of birds in the tree took off in an angry flutter of wings. If she hadn't done this before she almost wouldn't have recognized that it was him, given that he was usually more prone to smirks and scowls - nothing as blatant as open laughter. All in all, it was fine. It was  _normal._ Just another Sunday.

Later, she would look back on that moment and wonder exactly how it had transpired; exactly how his hands had shot out and gripped her tightly around her wrists, how he had thrown his weight and twisted, pinning her with a triumphant 'ha!' as he gained the upper hand. All she knew was that one moment he had been at her mercy, and the next she was flat on her back staring up at him, completely at his.

He was breathing hard. Slowly the victorious smile faded into something stricken, his eyes going wide as he realized what he had done, but he did not move, and neither could she. They were frozen, staring at each other.

There was a dim part of her mind that wondered why she couldn't react as always – curse and thrash, grinning because it was part of the game. She realized that this was no game; this was unfamiliar, dangerous ground.

She was terrified. Not of him, but of herself, of the odd thrill that coursed through her when he had taken her by the wrists, his face above hers. She felt as if something she'd always taken for truth had been proven a lie, and in the most stunning, violent way possible. He was  _Auruo_ , her best friend, the boy she'd saved and the one who had saved her, the person she trusted more than anyone else in the world. He'd always been safe and familiar, yet as she looked up into his wide hazel eyes she suddenly felt as if she'd never seen him before.

His hands were hot around her wrists, and she noticed they trembled. His face was flushed. His mouth moved soundlessly as he tried to speak, and his throat worked when he swallowed. She felt as if she really were seeing these things for the first time – the parts rather than the sum she'd always taken for granted, this vastly different Auruo than the one with whom she'd spent so many years knowing. He was so much taller than she remembered. 

She couldn't breathe.

Just as abruptly, Auruo was gone, releasing his hold on her wrists and leaping off her as if she'd burned him. His wide hands made and remade nervous shapes before he held one out to her. She took it dimly, and he pulled her to her feet. How had she never noticed how  _tall_ he was, how strong? She had, probably, but always in an abstract capacity. At this moment, it was the furthest thing from abstract she could possibly imagine.

He cleared his throat. "Um, sorry."

"For what?" she said, shrugging. She'd tried to sound blasé, but her breathless voice betrayed her.

Something seemed to break him out of his nervous stupor. "I pinned you pretty hard. Your head all right?"

Ah – concern. She rubbed the place where it'd struck. Maybe that was it – she'd hit her head and all these odd thoughts were the result of a concussion. To her dismay, she could feel no pain or bruises, so she decided to lie. The last thing she wanted was for their friendship to be forever ruined by this sudden realization and subsequent awkwardness. "A bit sore," she managed.

"Shit," he said, taking a step forward. "I'm really sorry. Shit."

"Stop swearing," she said reflexively. "It's not that bad. I've knocked your head worse before."

"And I probably deserved it, unlike you.  _Shit_."

"Stop swearing!" she said. "Geez, Auruo. Calm down. I thought you said I'm not a delicate little bauble."

"You're not," he agreed. His hands dropped to his sides, clenching into fists once before relaxing. "I'm sorry."

"And stop apologizing!" she said, smiling a little despite herself. "Come on. Let's go back."

So they did. He spoke and she responded, and she tried desperately to resume as they had been only this morning; better than friends, practically family, but still friends – still safe. But now it was as if everything he did served as affirmation to the uncomfortable, inconvenient truth that she would sooner choke on than admit.

_How had this even happened?_

Hoof beats startled her out of her musing, and she looked up to see a uniformed man riding desperately for the Karanese gate, his green cloak whipping behind him as he rode. Auruo held out his arm in front of her – reflexively, she thought – but the rider slowed when he caught sight of them. She opened her mouth to greet him when his appearance stalled the words in her mouth. His uniform was covered in dirt and blood, and his expression was harrowed, haunting; it was the face of a man who had seen something terrible.

"What is it?" Auruo called.

The man jabbed toward the gate. "Get inside, both of you. This area is no longer safe."

"What are you talking about?" Auruo demanded. "What's happened?"

The soldier shuddered, his hands tightening on the reins of his horse. "Titans," he said hoarsely. "Wall Maria has fallen."


	9. Chapter 9

Auruo stared at the soldier; his blood streaked uniform, the pitted circles under his eyes, hands clenched into shaking fists over the reins of his horse. Though he appeared exhausted, every few moments he would look over his shoulder and no matter where he trained his eyes on the bucolic landscape, he found no relief.

Petra recovered first. "Wall Maria?" she blurted. "But … how?"

The soldier didn't seem to hear her question. "Get inside the Walls! It's not safe!" With a shudder, he spurred his horse and streaked down the road before finally passing under the open gate.

And why wouldn't it be open? Why would Wall Rose have to employ the same stringent measures as Wall Maria, the first bulwark against the Titans? There was a village just on the outside of the Wall, one they passed through every Sunday to get to their river. No one thought anything of it. The Walls kept the Titans out; that was the tradeoff. But if Wall Maria had fallen, everything that lay outside Wall Rose no longer belonged to them.

Hadn't he thought it, only the night before? He'd felt as if every day their world grew smaller, and here it was; the vast landscape that existed between Rose and Maria, claimed by Titans. Their whole world, cut by a third. The implications rocked him, and he felt himself shudder involuntarily, nausea curdling his gut.

"Auruo!" Petra cried, shaking his arm. "Come on!"

They sprinted for the gate. Already the villagers milled nervously around, stunned by the appearance of the blood-streaked rider. He'd be heading for the Garrison, Auruo guessed, so that was where they needed to go. He grabbed Petra's hand and held it tightly, so that they wouldn't be separated by the uneasy crowd.

It took them a good twenty minutes to get back inside the safety of Karanese District, and not once in that time did Auruo let go of Petra's hand. An odd instinctual knowledge filled him; it was important that they not be separated, not for anything. He looked back at her stricken expression, her amber eyes huge and terrified, and knew it was mirrored on his own face. It seemed as if the morning had passed in a different world, one with no walls or Titans, one many miles away.

When they finally squeezed back inside the Wall, they saw that the rider had collapsed. He lay in a heap in the middle of the street, his horse whickering nervously, surrounded by a crowd.

"He's dead!" someone shouted from the back.

"He's exhausted," Petra said. "He's probably been riding for days."

Auruo could only stare at her.

Three Garrison soldiers pushed their way through the crowd, and one knelt at the side of the bloodied rider, craning close to listen. But the bloodied rider did not mumble – he shot up, his eyes wide, shuddering from the force of whatever he'd seen and survived. "Close the gate!" he screamed. "They were right behind me! All the way from Shiganshina!"

 _Right behind him?_  Auruo and Petra been out beyond Wall Rose and the horizon had been clear. It was sunny, warm – just like every other week. With a sick pang, Auruo realized he had not been in the proper state of mind to notice anything. They'd been screwing around, being stupid. Careless. He remembered her pinned beneath him as if it were something that happened many years ago to someone else.

"What is he-?" one of the Garrison soldiers began, but the bloodied rider thrashed so badly the she did not finish her thought.

" _Close the gate or Karanese will be next_!"

The gathered crowd murmured nervously amongst themselves; the bloodied rider's state was worrisome, of course, but how could Titans have gotten through Wall Maria – fifty meters high and nigh unto impenetrable? But Auruo saw horror in the man's face that only truth could inspire. This was no affected raving of a madman. He groped for Petra's hand again, gripping it tightly and pulling her behind him. Her fingers were ice cold.

"Look," she whispered, pointing to the top of the Wall. He had to squint to see: Garrison soldiers, scurrying in panic, one with his arms windmilling as he signaled to the others. He heard their voices echoing down the Wall, too indistinct to make out the words. Then: the gate shuddering as it slowly lowered into place.

Panicked sounds from the villagers on the wrong side of the Wall. Panic in the crowd. The bloodied rider watched the gate descend with feral relief before he keeled right over, sprawling on the cobbled streets and shuddering once before going completely still.

"They're not even going to evacuate -?!" Petra breathed.

"Not if there's a Titan in sight," Auruo said in a horrible, dead voice.

She had gone bone white. "But what difference will lowering the gate make, if they were able to get through Wall Maria?"

He didn't know. He didn't know anything. If there were Titans about to break through the Wall, they should run – but run where? If they fled further into the interior, what was to stop the Titans from breaking through Rose? And Sina? He slowly realized it might not matter that they'd gotten back to Karanese before the gates had closed. They could die today just as easily.

He grew cold. In his mind, a wall shuddered into place.

It was as if the crowd realized this at the same instant. Some screamed and ran for their homes and families. Others stood transfixed, watching the Wall with horror that went beyond words. They could all hear the advancing Titans, now; heavy footfalls, houses being smashed to rubble, and the blood-curdling screams of their victims.

The Garrison soldier shook the bloodied rider's shoulder desperately, her lips white. "How?!" she cried. "How were they able to break through Maria?!"

The rider's head lolled, his lids fluttering. "A massive Titan …" he rasped. "Broke the gate. Another … smashed through the inner wall."

"And did you see them after?!"

The rider shook his head. "I was ordered to … warn Karanese."

The Garrison soldiers said no more; they sprinted full tilt toward the Wall, leaving the bloodied rider where he'd collapsed in the middle of the street. And the panic rose like a cresting wave, dragging them all below the surface. He heard someone sobbing behind him, heard people calling to their families, running for home. He felt Petra's cold hand in his, felt it shaking hard enough that his arm shook too. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. He'd been able to see for miles.

It was the longest hour of his life, and he was only able to process it through vague flashes of sensory input. Watching soldiers man the Wall, employing gear and tactics they hadn't had to use since training. People standing stupid and watching, waiting, hardly daring to breathe. Odd stretches of silence, punctuated by screaming on the wrong side of Rose. He thought he could heard the blood spilling and bones breaking when one awful scream would be cut short, but logically he knew that was impossible. Logically, theoretically. What use was any of it now?

"Auruo," Petra said, her voice raw. She sounded close. He could no longer feel her hand. "Let's go."

He felt her tugging on his arm. He looked at her blankly.

"Come on," she urged, and he noticed that her voice was shaking. "I don't think they're coming through."

He processed this very slowly. He didn't know how much time had passed since they'd squeezed back into Karanese. The screams on the other side of the Wall had died out. The soldiers no longer seemed panicked but vigilant. He acknowledged these facts as if through a fog, and on its heels was the subsequent realization that whatever had broken through Maria might not be coming for them. This did not inspire hope in him. He felt nothing.

Petra led him through the alleys toward their neighborhood, and he watched her auburn braid bouncing between her shoulders, oddly hypnotized by the motion. She wasn't dead. He could feel her shaking. Why wasn't he shaking? 

Out of the sight of the sun, Petra slowed, her fingers dragging against the side of a building until he saw blood at her fingertips. She pressed one shaking fist to her mouth and sank to her knees. He heard a broken sob, and realized a moment later that it had come from her. Dumbly, he knelt beside her because it seemed appropriate.

"All those p-people," she sobbed, her hands quivering against her mouth. "G-god. And w-we could hear them scream the whole time."

Yes. That was true. Not just abstract people, but people he'd known all his life. People he'd greeted this morning. In the gut of a Titan, or crushed in debris. Something vicious and dark curled in the back of his mind, scratching against the walls that had come down. His vision shimmered.

"And if – if we hadn't –" Her sobbing grew louder, accompanied by strange gasping. Oh – she was hyperventilating. He mechanically rubbed her back.

"Right," he said in that horrible, dead voice.

"If we'd stayed out all day, we'd be dead," she gasped. "You'd be dead.  _You'd be dead."_

Yes, he'd be dead. Slowly the statement took another shape in his mind: if they'd stayed out all day,  _she'd_ be dead. Likely he would have had to watch her die. Petra, dead – eaten or crushed or ripped apart. The essence would disappear, and not even the shell would remain. That vicious presence in the back of his mind reared, scratching red lines, howling.

"What's wrong with you?!" she shouted at him. "Say something!"

The walls were gone. His stomach boiled over, and he vomited at her feet.

~

Auruo's parents found them first. Mrs. Bossard rushed forward and folded a nearly catatonic Auruo in her arms, sobbing on his shoulder. "When we heard, w-we thought you'd been - because you're always by the river on Sundays, and – w-we thought –" She trailed off, holding him so tightly that Petra thought he might not be able to breathe, but his only reaction was to slowly pat her on the back. His gaze was very far away.

"And you too–" Mrs. Bossard said, gripping her hand tightly. Petra had never wanted to be more like Auruo's mother than in this moment, whose reaction to trauma was completely acceptable, understandable, and even, in a way, noble.

Her father found them next. He didn't say anything at first; he could only grip her tightly by the shoulders, his hands shaking so badly that she shook with him. His eyes were red, raw. "You're okay," he said. "Thank God."

She swallowed an angry retort that bubbled up in her from nothing.  _What does God have to do with it? What does God have to do with anything?_

Their parents attempted to corral them off to their respective corners, but Petra dug her heels into the ground. "I want to stay together," she said loudly. She didn't care how it sounded, how it would seem to their parents, or even how it would seem to Auruo; the last thing she wanted to do today was let him out of her sight.

Mrs. Bossard sniffed, squeezing her hand again. "Of c-course, sweetheart," she said. "You're both welcome."

Her father did not look especially pleased about this, but he followed without a word. They made their way through the nearly empty streets before piling into the Bossard's tiny kitchen. There were not enough spaces at the table for them all to sit, so Auruo's brothers heaped around his feet, clinging to his legs, and his mother contented herself with striking a cooking fire and throwing ingredients in a worn pot. Petra saw that her hands shook.

"Did you see anything?" Mr. Bossard asked.

Auruo said nothing so Petra answered for them. "We were walking back when we saw the messenger from Shiganshina. He – he told us to get back inside."

"Did he tell you what he'd seen?"

Petra remembered the rider and the distant way he'd looked through them all, as if nothing smaller than the size of a Titan could capture his attention. "He'd seen Titans," she whispered. "Strange ones – tall and strong enough to break through the walls."

There was a clatter at the woodstove. Auruo's mother had dropped a spoon. "Don't worry, don't worry," she said, hands fluttering. "I'm sorry."

"Let me help you, Mrs. Bossard," Petra said, half rising from her seat.

"Don't worry, sweetheart."

But Petra stood and joined her at the stove. She gave Petra a grateful smile before resuming her ministrations.

As the day wore on, panic gave way to harrowed vigilance; people stayed in their homes, faces pressed to the windows, watching as soldiers ran through the streets. Slowly word circulated, picked from snippets overheard from the military, that whatever had destroyed Shiganshina was not coming for them. The Titans on the wrong side of the Wall were the normal kind; man eating abominations unable to breach their only protection.

Their parents conferred in low voices well into the evening, as if they feared speaking loudly would summon the wrath of Shiganshina's ruin on them. Petra initially worried that her father's dislike of Auruo would prejudice him against Auruo's parents, who were two of the sweetest people she'd ever known in her life, but that fear came to nothing; they spoke intently, not quite friends yet, but people who had been brought together by calamity and their children.

Petra watched Auruo, making no show of her scrutiny. He sat stiffly, his hands clenched on his knees. He'd hardly said a word since this morning, and in some base corner of her heart she worried that he was broken, that he'd never say anything again, and she'd spend the rest of her life trying to bring him back. Only when he noticed her did his distant stare focus on her face. His brows furrowed over pitted eyes, and she saw his Adam's apple bob in his throat. She was once again overcome with the visceral need to hold him. Before, she hadn't thought anything of these impulses, but after this morning in the field, they'd become upsetting and worrisome, dangerous.

 _How can you even think of that?_ she thought, sick at herself.  _People died today. We could have died today._

But it wasn't like the world had ended, not completely anyway. She was still alive, and so was he, and so were their families. Elsewhere in their shrinking world, there were people who had not been that lucky. And that evening in the Bossard kitchen, she decided that she wasn't going to stop living, turn her life into a walking statement of grief and regret. She would do something, she would do everything. She would remember, and fight. It was all she could do.

"Wonder if they'll open the mills tomorrow," Mr. Bossard said wearily. "Wonder if things will have calmed down long enough to get some work done."

"I don't see why they wouldn't," Mrs. Bossard said, nursing a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold. "You could bring Auruo with you, see if the foreman will give him his old job back—"

" _No."_

It took Petra a second to realize that it was Auruo who had spoken, and in a voice as sharp as a razor. Everyone in the room stared at him, as if they'd forgotten that he knew how to speak.

"Auruo, sweetheart," his mother began, placating.

"No. How could you think anything has changed after today? If anything, I want to join more than ever." 

He lurched forward and stumbled out of the kitchen, the door banging shut behind him. No one spoke or made a sound, not even Auruo's brothers. The silence was unbearable; without being consciously aware of doing so, Petra got to her feet and followed him outside.

She found him hunched on the stoop, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and biting his lip with violence she'd never seen from him before. When she lightly touched his shoulder, he flinched away from her.

"Don't," he said thickly.

"Why?"

He shook his head, and she noticed that he was shaking. "Not exactly at my best right now," he mumbled.

"I think that ship has sailed," she said gently. "It's not like I've never seen you upset before."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it."

She scooted closer, laying her hand on his shoulder once again, and this time he did not flinch away. "Why are you so upset?"

"Besides the obvious reasons?"

"Of course." She tried to smile. "I don't ask questions that have obvious answers, remember?"

He took a trembling breath and lowered his hands, and she saw that his eyes were red. He swallowed hard. "I – I can't –"

"You don't have to tell me," she said, and she drew away, trying not to feel hurt.

He shook his head, looking at her with such absence of guile that it took her breath away. "That's not what I meant," he said, quiet. "I mean … my brothers live here, you know? My parents. Say that whatever broke open Maria got through Rose too – there isn't any coming back from that. I'll wager any money I have that only a handful were able to get out of Shiganshina, and I'm supposed to play those odds with my own family? With – with  _you?_ I – I can't do it." He trailed off, his hands clenching into anguished fists again. " _I won't do it."_

She knew Auruo possessed intensity that easily matched her own, but he spent so much time downplaying it or dressing it in sarcasm that she could almost forget it was there. But in that instant she could see him as clearly as she ever had. She saw that he would put himself in the path of a thousand Titans for those he loved, and that he loved them with more devotion than most people ever knew. She saw him as he saw himself; a barrier between the Titans and his family, with twin swords in his hands, soaring faster than the eye could follow. A brave streak of green against the blue sky.

Slowly, she understood that he'd included her in his dedication; he refused to play the odds with her life as well. She waited for him to blush at having admitted something so personal, but instead he stared into the darkened streets, the line of his jaw bowstring tight. She was pinned beneath him again, looking up at his face and struggling to make her heart beat right, but this was a different sort of capture; a slower, more deliberate surrender. She could not fight it off or break free; she could only sit beside him and let it overtake her, this realization that made the air hard to breathe, that made her body feel too small for the multitudes it suddenly contained.

He took a steadying breath. "And maybe joining the Survey Corps isn't going to do jack shit, but you know what? It's better than doing nothing. They're the ones trying to figure out how to stop the Titans for good. And … I want to be a part of that."

"I agree," she said softly. "With all of it."

He looked almost like the old Auruo in that moment; relief had lit him from within. "I knew you would."

They sat in relative silence for a long time, watching as the sun set and the sky faded into a thousand colors before giving way to deep night. There were more stars tonight than she'd ever seen in her life. She existed in an odd, halfway state; filled with too many extremes to properly acknowledge. She was exhausted and heart sore, harrowed and overwhelmed, driven by purpose. She was preternaturally aware of the boy sitting next to her, the boy who was no longer a boy, and who had grown up without her even noticing. She remembered the morning as it had happened many bright years ago, and remembered Auruo as he had been at that moment; laughing so hard he couldn't breathe, singing in French, smiling up at her when he thought she wouldn't notice.

She thought of the next day, when they would go to the Garrison and enlist, where they would do so together because a long time ago they had agreed to look out for one another.

"Tomorrow," she told him; a reminder and a promise mingled.

"Tomorrow," he agreed.

 

-End of Part 1-

_5 years left_


	10. Chapter 10

_-Part 2: Tin Soldiers-_

 

They left for training on an overcast morning, three days after Auruo's disastrous sixteenth birthday. Clutching knapsacks filled with all their few possessions, they filed into the horse-drawn cart that would carry them and the other recruits from Karanese to the training camp. Beside him, Petra wiped her nose and sat ramrod straight, her fists bunched in her lap. They did not speak, but Auruo could tell from her eyes that saying goodbye to her father had been painful.

His mother and brothers cried when the cart jolted forward, and Benoit ran alongside until they passed through the inner gate. Auruo waved once, but he did not take his eyes off his family until they became diffuse blurs on the horizon, and he could no longer see them. He swallowed the hard lump in his throat and turned away.

They shared the cart with only ten other people. The recruiter had not bothered to hide his disappointment in the fact that Karanese only had twelve able bodied people of recruitment age willing to volunteer. Auruo wasn't surprised with the turnout; in fact, he'd expected even fewer. He spent the first few hours of the journey studying his new comrades; most were people he'd seen on the streets but never spoken to. He recognized one twelve-year old boy who had lived in the village outside the walls; after getting a good look at the boy's fraught expression, Auruo realized with a pang that how he came to be in this cart probably wasn't that much of a mystery.

Midday they stopped to water the horses and stretch their legs. He and Petra sat under the shade of an oak tree and shared their lunches; Auruo's mother had packed some pieces of cake leftover from his birthday and Petra had brought bread with some tart cheese and apples. He watched as she ate, worrying a piece of crust between her fingers.

"You look tired," he said.

"Haven't been sleeping so well," she admitted, her shoulders drooping as she sighed.

He'd known this – known it when she came by every night in those last days before they were scheduled to leave, forced out of what little sleep she could manage by a nightmare and shaking so badly that nothing could calm her. He would reach for her, then hesitate. It was a strange place they found themselves now; needing something as simple as a touch for comfort, yet being wary of it at the same time.

"You know, they'll probably work us so hard in training that we won't have trouble sleeping ever again," he said, grinning.

She tried to smile, but it was a stiff gesture – her heart wasn't in it. "Let's hope."

"Oi! You lot!" the driver called. "We're leaving!"

In the afternoon the clouds returned and the air grew unseasonably cold. It was even more so for them as they sat in the back of the cart, well away from the rest of the recruits. Petra wrapped her arms around herself, and he saw a flash of unhappiness in her eyes. He had reached a point in his regard for her that what she felt affected him in equal measure. He shrugged out of his threadbare coat and passed it to her without a word, and she wrapped it around herself gratefully.

He watched her as the cart rumbled on, jostling them over the uneven roads. She was exhausted and heartsore. She had nightmares, just as he did. She was stubborn and resolute, but that did not preclude her from missing her father or their home. And more than anything, he wanted to cheer her up before they were thrown into the crucible of training, in this one final moment where it was only the two of them.

With a steadying breath, he set aside his embarrassment and began to hum the tune he knew she liked best, low enough that only she could hear. And almost instantly, she looked up at him and beamed, so brightly it was as if nothing awful had happened, and nothing awful would ever happen again. He rolled his eyes but did not stop humming; he concentrated on the complex melody, pitching every note exactly right.

She sighed. Every muscle in her body seemed to disengage as she relaxed, coming apart with the song. She let her head drop, nestling it on his shoulder. And even then he did not stop, though it felt as if his heart no longer knew how to beat properly. He thought about holding her hand, or pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth – how her skin would feel, how it would taste. He thought about sweeping aside the lock of hair that had come loose from her braid, his fingers brushing her cheekbones.

Instead he sang:

 _"Il y a longtemps que je t'aime_   _  
_Jamais, jamais je ne t'oublierai."__

And she smiled. "What does it mean?"

"It means go to sleep."

"Hm …"

 

They arrived at the training camp just after sundown. Auruo expected them to be fitted for uniforms first but instead they were split from the girls and corralled toward a group of large barracks. He watched Petra go in the opposite direction with the rest of the girls, and before she disappeared she waved over her shoulder and flashed him a grin. He returned the gesture, though with less enthusiasm. In an odd way, he felt like it'd be many years before he saw her again.

Frowning, he turned and followed his classmates to the barracks.  _Pathetic, co-dependent, needy, stupidstupidstupid,_ he cursed himself.  _If you spend all three years here mooning and moping when you're apart, you really will be a worthless piece of shit._  When this failed to motivate him, he shoved his hands in his pockets and arranged his features into his most off-putting scowl.

He was not looking forward to this part of training; mingling with strangers his age and watching the hierarchies form. He had a lot of experience with the establishment of pecking order, and it was not to his taste. All his life he'd existed on the bottom, getting his face rearranged on a weekly basis, and the last thing he'd do was let that happen here. He decided his best strategy was to be as unapproachable as possible.

The officer corralled the older boys into one of the smaller barracks and regarded them sternly from the doorway. "Get settled," he told them. "In the morning, you get your uniforms. Training begins in the afternoon." He left them without another word.

Auruo quickly claimed the top bunk of the bed closest to the door, the better to watch his new classmates. Most of them had already struck up conversation amongst themselves as they claimed beds of their own, and at the center of the commotion were two of the largest guys Auruo had ever seen in his life; one consciously handsome, the other sharp-featured and dangerous. The handsome one talked in a loud, confident voice, like he thought he was doing the world some big favor by making his thoughts as easily accessible as possible.

"Um … excuse me?"

Auruo peered over the side of the bed. A boy with dark hair and pinched features stood there, his gaze shifting to Auruo's face and away, as if afraid he'd be abused in some fashion. He had a worn pack slung over his narrow shoulder, and in his left hand was a battered violin case. "Could I take the bottom bunk?" he asked, staring at his feet.

All thoughts of the hierarchy left Auruo's mind at that moment; he longer cared that allying with someone so obviously weak and scared would do nothing for him, and might in fact make himself a bigger target. All he could think was that the boy looked as scared and exhausted as he was trying not to feel himself, and pity overwhelmed him. "Sure," he said, shrugging. "I don't care."

The boy brightened. "Thanks," he said. "Um … I'm Martin Klossner."

Auruo held out his hand, and Martin shook it tentatively. "Auruo Bossard. Don't make too much noise and we'll get along fine."

Martin's face fell. "O-oh, well …"

"That's a joke," Auruo said, arching a brow.

"Oh, right! Ha ha."

Martin chose that moment to make a strategic retreat, disappearing under his bunk and unpacking his belongings. Wincing, Auruo lay back and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was a total idiot with people. He got along with Petra so well because she understood him and had since the first day they'd met. For her, it was effortless, not because he was easy to understand but because she was just better than most people at putting up with his crappy personality. She didn't get offended at the dumb things he said (not for long anyway) and wasn't put off by his moods (or at least, she knew how to take them in stride). And most surprisingly of all, she brought out the best in him. He wasn't even sure how, but she did.

It was with Petra's example in mind that inspired Auruo to make a better effort with his new bunkmate. He eyed the violin case at the side of Martin's bed. "You play?"

Martin looked up from the notebook he'd been scribbling in. "Oh – yes. A little."

"Are you any good?"

"No, not really," said Martin – modestly, Auruo thought. Probably not in the habit of boasting. "Not as good as my father."

Auruo leaned on the side of his bed and peered down into Martin's preoccupied face. "So you learned from him, then?"

"Yes, that's right."

"I have to admit, I'm a little jealous," said Auruo, grinning. "I'd always wanted to play an instrument."

Martin tilted his head. "Why couldn't you?"

"Only rich people have instruments," Auruo said, and he shrugged. "I used to walk by the governor's back home because you could see they had a real, actual piano. Not like those tinny clavichords but a real grand – probably made behind Sina and shipped out special. They never even played it, either; just let it sit in their drawing room, right next to the window so people could look at it and know how rich they were. Never had to worry about it getting stolen either, because it's like – if the governor's fancy piano got stolen, the Garrison would be all over it. And not many places you can hide a real piano that no one ever plays."

"Seems wasteful," Martin said quietly.

"You're damn right it's wasteful," Auruo said. "Ah, well. They do what they want, and fuck the rest."

Going by his expression, Auruo figured Martin wasn't really accustomed to colorful language. Or cynicism. He swallowed and chose a different tack. "How'd you come by that violin anyway? If you don't mind me asking."

And to his relief, Martin brightened again. "No, I don't mind. My father made it."

"No shit?"

"Yes, shit," Martin said, and for the first time he actually smiled; it transformed his pinched, fearful face into something a little more human.

"Ha—was that a joke?"

"Yes."

Auruo snorted. "Maybe there's hope for you after all."

Martin bit his lip, clearly satisfied. "Anyway. My father made it. He's come down from a long line of luthiers, since before the Walls, he says. And there isn't much use for a luthier where we are now, so we're farmers. But we live on the edge of the forest – on the eastern edge of Rose? The wood there is prime for violins, especially when you treat it right."

Auruo watched as he spoke – gesturing widely, his hands echoing the effort required to turn a tree into something as complex and beautiful as a violin. "He ever teach you any of it?"

"Yes. As much as I could learn," Martin said, and he grew quiet –a sensitive subject? Auruo frowned. "And … well, I don't expect I'll be able to play much here. But I couldn't bring myself to leave it behind."

"You'd be surprised," Auruo said, dropping down and digging through his suitcase for a clean shirt. "I'd wager things'll get pretty boring during free hours. Everyone'll be begging you to fill it up with some music."

"Maybe," Martin allowed, doodling loops and curls in the margins of his notebook. Auruo could tell that he didn't really believe this but was too polite to say so outright. Being that Auruo was a person who usually said what he thought in as graceless a manner as possible, he could respect the skill involved in keeping quiet.

He'd been about to pull himself back up into his bunk when the massive boy from earlier swaggered up to him. "Hey, Auruo, right?" he said, with what he clearly thought was a winning smile.

"Yeah," Auruo said, wary.

"I'm Axel Leitz. It's great to meet you." Weirdly, he sounded as if he actually meant that. He leaned against the bunk, bracing himself with one meaty arm. "You came in with the group from Karanese, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Ah, you were lucky then. It took us four days to get here. Me and Oskar, I mean." He indicated the other massive boy, currently glowering at them from across the room. "That's longer than anyone wants to spend in a cart, believe me."

"Where the hell would you have to come from for it to take that long?"

"Some nothing village on the north east side of Rose," Axel said. "You know the kind … or do you?"

Auruo didn't, as he'd lived in a city his whole life. He shrugged.

Axel grinned self-deprecatingly. "Well, think endless fields, lots of cows, maybe a dozen houses and a tavern. Everybody nose deep in everybody else's business. Meddling neighbors that think 'cause they know you so well they get a say in what you do with your own life. And they all cry when you leave. Home sweet home."

"Sounds pretty lousy to me," Auruo said.

Martin stared wide-eyed from his bunk, as if he couldn't imagine ever saying something so rude to a stranger. Axel, for his part, took it in stride. "Ah, well. We don't get to choose where we come from. But if we're lucky, we can choose where we go."

It was an oddly philosophical thing to come from someone Auruo had assumed was stupid and dull. "That's one way of looking at it," he said, uncomfortable. "Anyway. Nice to meet you, or whatever."

"Hey – before I forget. You're the one that came in with that pretty redhead, right?" Axel shot him a conspiratorial grin. "Sleeping on your shoulder, all close-like."

 _Ah_. And now he came to what he actually wanted. "Yeah," Auruo said, frowning. If this was going where he thought it was going –

Axel's grin widened. "So are you with that, or am I free to pursue matters?"

At least a dozen furious thoughts shot through Auruo's mind at the speed of light:  _vicious, violent, each an overreaction_ _._ He mastered the urge to punch this idiotic barrelhouse of a boy only through great personal effort; he didn't care that would be ill-advised and potentially fatal, because Axel was much bigger and stronger than him. "How 'bout you shut up about that shit, huh?" 

Axel held up his hands. "No harm meant."

Auruo hoisted himself back up into his bunk. "Good."

The idiot named Axel shuffled back to his corner with a genuinely affronted expression, like he really thought he was being friendly and considerate by asking if 'that pretty redhead' belonged to Auruo or something. Not that he was an expert on the arrangement, but he was pretty sure that wasn't the way it worked.

Auruo turned over and scowled, punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape. It was a bullshit question, but its core was something he'd had to contend with ever since he found himself inexplicably attracted to his best friend. He was relieved, if not exactly pleased, that he'd been able to avoid answering while still making his position on the subject abundantly clear.

~

Petra surveyed the barracks that would be her home for the next three years with a sinking feeling, watching her new roommates talking and laughing amongst themselves. There were a few loners in the corners, but almost everyone gravitated toward an achingly gorgeous girl holding court in the center of the room, currently laughing and tossing her vivid yellow hair, making it shimmer in the low light. It seemed to Petra as if most of them had already formed connections, and once again she was the weirdo on the outside. With a determined little huff, she forced herself to cross the threshold. She was  _not_ going to waste time feeling awkward or sorry for herself.

"Hey," said a voice to her right. "You look a little lost."

Petra turned, swallowing her dismay; half a second inside and already someone had figured her out. That someone was reclined easily on the top bunk; arms crossed under her head, legs crossed at the knee, foot bouncing in time with some internal compulsion. She had lovely tanned skin, a shock of white-blonde hair cropped short and sleek against her head, and the deepest blue eyes Petra had ever seen on a person. Her features were a little big for her face, and they culminated to a clever mien, as though she saw and heard more than the average person. She gave Petra a slow smile. "Don't look so lost, huh? You can bunk here."

"Really?!"

The girl shrugged. "Yeah, sure. It'll be my good deed for the day."

"Thank you," Petra said, rushing to the bunk and flopping down flat on her back, relief a nearly physical sensation thrumming in her limbs, and so potent she felt dizzy with it.

"Don't mention it. If I hadn't intervened you might have bunked on the other side of the room, and let me tell you those girls would eat a sweet thing like you alive."

Petra frowned; she did not like being coddled. "Maybe I'm not sweet at all."

The strange girl swung down from her bunk and plopped onto Petra's bed, crossing her legs and leaning forward to get a closer look. "Oh, you are. I can tell."

Petra sat up too, a little taken aback – she didn't even know the girl's name and already she was barging into her space uninvited. "How's that?"

"You have a very open face," said the strange girl, cocking her head. "Big eyes, you know. Mean people squint. Like this, see?" She pointed to her eyes, which she'd narrowed coolly.

Petra thought of Auruo and his vast array of squinty-eyed scowling expressions, how sometimes when he looked at her or laughed his affected irritation would fade, and he'd be left looking as open as she knew he really was. "I guess I never thought of it that way," she allowed. "So you're saying you're a mean person?"

"Oh, I am. Unequivocally."

"Then why worry about good deeds?"

The girl flashed Petra a quicksilver grin. "Well, I'm not a complete monster. You can relax, by the way. I'm not going to eat you." Her smirk widened, as if she enjoyed some personal joke. "My name's Wil Althaus."

"Petra Ral."

"Nice to meet you," said Wil. "And I do mean that."

Somehow, Petra could tell that she really did.

"So, Petra Ral," Wil said, leaning against the bedpost. "What's your story?"

"Are we exchanging life stories now?"

"Sure, why not? Unless you'd rather I leave you alone."

Oddly, she didn't; there was something endearing about Wil. Perhaps it was her insistence that she was not a good person, despite her actions to the contrary. "No, it's all right," she said, and she couldn't help smiling. "Though this means you have to tell me your life story too."

"Does it, now?"

Petra nodded firmly. "I'm not interested in an uneven exchange."

"Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?" Another quicksilver grin. "You first."

Petra played with a loose thread from the hem of her skirt and shrugged. "Maybe it is uneven. My story isn't that interesting."

"I'll be the judge of that. Come on, out with it."

Petra sighed. "I'm fifteen. I came here from Karanese with my best friend."

Wil's grin faded. "Karanese, huh? So everything went to shit when the Titans got to your part of the Rose."

"Yeah," Petra said, biting her lip.

Wil gestured dismissively. "Forget I asked. Why'd you enlist so late with your friend?"

Petra smiled gratefully for the change in subject. "Because he had to convince his parents to let him join, and in the end he pretty much decided he was going to do this without their blessing anyway. As for me, my dad wasn't really happy about it either, but he doesn't try to tell me what to do with my life because he knows it doesn't work." She twisted the loose thread around her finger. "And before you say anything, I know I didn't have to wait for him – my friend, I mean – but … I don't know. We promised we'd look out for each other." She fell silent, inexplicably embarrassed. "Is that dumb to admit?"

"No, I don't think so," Wil said. "It's nice. It's the kind of thing sweet people do."

Petra couldn't help the smile. "He'd get so mad if he heard you say that."

"What, that he's sweet?!" Wil rolled her eyes. "I guess I'd get mad if someone said that about me too."

"Yeah, you know? This'll be interesting. From what I can guess about you, and from everything I know about him, you're either going to hate each other or get along famously. There will be no middle ground."

"I could probably tell you for sure if you told me about him," Wil said. "I'm pretty particular about the people I deign to interact with."

"Are you? You talked to me quick enough."

"I sure did. And do you see me chatting with any of our other esteemed comrades?"

"Ha. I guess not."

"Right. So tell me about this great friend of yours, since you seem more interested in talking about him than talking about yourself."

Petra flushed. "It's not like that."

"Hm," Wil said, her expression speculative. "Go on, then."

 _Where to even start?_ Petra considered the parts that made the sum; how he was simultaneously irascible and yet tender, boastful yet insecure, how he often blurted the first thing that came to mind yet managed to be extraordinarily thoughtful when it mattered. She thought of the many times they'd fought, and the many times he'd put himself in an uncomfortable position to make her smile, how he was both fueled and embarrassed by attention. How he'd managed to become such an inextricable part of her life, with so little effort.

_The muscles in his forearms, the way light catches in his eyes. Narrow hipped, wide shouldered. Strong, safe. The feel of him above me._

Swallowing nervously, she decided to give the abridged description – no sense in making her odd fascination widely known. "Well, firstly he's a bit of a hothead," she said finally. "I'll be surprised if he doesn't get in a fight with someone tonight. He's the kind of person who leaps before he looks. He's easily embarrassed, easy to fluster. He's frequently grumpy. He'll always be there for you, though. He's so funny when he wants to be."

"Hm," said Wil, brows furrowed.

Petra huffed. "I'm not explaining him right. Let me give you an example. So last year I got really sick for the first time in my life. It wasn't anything life-threatening, just inconvenient. I couldn't work or do anything for a few weeks, because I was confined to bed. Which was torture for me. I like being able to move around, do things. It was completely miserable."

"Right, of course."

"But Auruo came over every single night, even though he worked at the steel mill and was always so tired after he got off a shift. His brothers would draw me pictures and his mom would make me soup even though they never had much to spare, and he'd bring them over every night, along with other little things that made it less awful and boring."

"Little things like …?"

Petra hesitated, because Auruo had done something truly selfless for her in those awful weeks, and she knew he'd be mortified that this perfect stranger knew he was capable of something so good. "He was just there. He ended up getting sick too, but for all his grumping he never blamed me, though it was technically my fault." She smiled, remembering his speckled face glowering up at her through the window before his expression softened.

Wil covered her mouth with one hand. "Oh, god."

"What?!"

She shook her head, and Petra saw she fought valiantly against a grin. "Nothing, nothing. I'm just … it's nothing! Stop looking at me, I'm going to laugh."

Petra frowned, hurt. "Are you laughing at him or me?"

"Neither! I swear to god! Shit, I'm going to break a rib."

"Do you need a minute?"

"No! No, no. I'm sorry. I look forward to meeting him and seeing this whole … thing play out in person."

"What  _thing?!"_

"Nothing at all. Don't mind me. It's been a long cart ride and I'm a pretty tired. You know."

But something in her expression gave Petra pause – like she was in on some private joke, or knew something no one else did. She  _knew_ , of course. She knew because it was obvious, because Petra was obvious about it, because everything she thought and did had become booming confirmation to the world at large. Fantastic.

"I know you don't have any reason to do this, seeing as we've only just met," Petra said, twisting the loose thread around her index finger so tightly that it hurt. "But please do me a favor and pretend you didn't just figure out what I know you did."

Wil shrugged. "If you want. Don't get used to asking for this kind of stuff, though. I do only one good deed a day, and already you're asking me for two."

"I won't," Petra mumbled.

"Hey," said Wil, craning closer and tilting Petra's chin up to meet her eyes. "You know it's kind of adorable, right? Like I'm not one for adorable, but it works on you."

"It's inconvenient," Petra said, yanking at the loose thread. "And confusing."

"Well, sure. It'll pretty much always be like that."

"Wonderful." Petra frowned up at her. "How do you know, anyway? It could just … stop being inconvenient and weird. Maybe it'll just go away and things will go back to normal."

Wil hummed thoughtfully, crossing her ankles. "Maybe. Probably not."

"How would you know?!"

"I'm a very worldly person," she said with a sly grin. "I know many things."

"Really. Like what."

Petra had not yet learned never to challenge Wil on these matters. She leaned close, tucking a loose strand of white blonde hair behind her ears, her sly grin achieving downright diabolical intensity. "Did you know a guy's lips are almost always the same color as the head?"

"The head of what?"

Wil gaped at her. "Are you serious?"

"Am I serious what? I don't know what you mean!"

"Shh! Keep your voice down." Wil leaned closer, until they were only a breath apart. "The head of his cock!" she hissed delightedly in Petra's ear.

 _Oh my god?!_ Heat rushed to her face, and she absently pressed her hands to her cheeks. "How do you know?" she whispered, light-headed.

"Like I said," Wil grinned. "I'm very worldly. I have firsthand experience."

"Oh my god."

"Oh my god is right," Wil said, grinning like her birthday had come early. "You look like you're going to pass out."

" _Why would you tell me that?"_  Petra squeaked. "It's all I'll be able to think about when I see anyone!"  _Especially him!_

"Man, I thought you might be pure, but I had no idea you were  _that_ pure."

"And you're the opposite!"

"Yes," Wil said, satisfied. "Yes, I am."

"Oh my god."

"Hey, come on. Calm down." She patted Petra reassuringly on the back. "It's a fact of life, and we just have to cope with it."

"There is no coping with this," Petra said. "I'll never be able to look at him again without dying of embarrassment."

"I highly doubt that," Wil said kindly. "It'll just be weird at first."

"Things are already weird enough," Petra moaned, burying her face in her hands. "Ever since …"

Will scooted closer, titillated by the prospect of drama. "Ever since  _what?"_ she whispered excitedly.

"Why are you so entertained by this?!"

"Because I came from a backwater little village full of boring people I've known my whole life. Slept with boys, slept with girls." She sighed artfully. "Got bored."

She made herself sound so experienced, and suddenly Petra felt very childish in comparison. "That many?" she whispered.

Wil seemed to reconsider. "Two boys, one girl," she clarified grudgingly. "And not at the same time. They got attached and I didn't. Not that I didn't care for them at all, it was just never what either of us wanted. But here you are; clearly full of this delicious drama and romance. Like  _real romance._ I can tell." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. " _You have to tell me everything!"_

Petra was quiet for a moment, parsing her awkward thoughts into orderly lines. Wil already had taken the shape of a friend in her life; less a stranger and more a font of support and, even more importantly, knowledge. "I can't even imagine what it'd be like to be interested in more than one person," she said finally, playing with the loose thread again. "Let alone sleep with more than one."

"Oh god, you lamb. I can't deal with this," Wil said, shaking her head. "Stick a fork in me."

"If you're going to make fun of me I just won't say anything," Petra snapped, feeling the familiar intensity burn at the back of her throat.

"No, no! I don't mean to," Wil said, placating. "It's just … you're so adorable. How don't you know anything? Like, I was never this innocent, not even when I actually  _should_ have been innocent."

Petra's temper disappeared, and she hugged her legs closer to her chest. "My mom died when I was eight," she said softly. "And Auruo's my only friend. I didn't have my mom or any girlfriends to talk to about … this."

Wil's grin vanished instantly. " _No one?"_

"No one."

"What did you do when you had your first bleed?!" Wil blurted, too upset to be circumspect.

Petra shook her head and buried her face in her knees. "I thought I was dying," she whispered. "I had no idea what was happening to me. Auruo's mom figured it out because I hadn't been around in days. She came over and explained things."

For just a moment, the squinty, smirking girl from before was gone, replaced by someone easily moved by plight. She quickly reassembled her affectation, but this time it was tempered by real concern. "Well, good news; I've decided I'm taking you under my wing," Wil said, blasé. "You clearly need it."

Petra couldn't help smiling. "You know that's three good deeds now, right?"

Wil sighed bravely. "Seems I might be moved to make an exception for you, every now and then. Don't get used to it. I'll probably change my mind in a few days."

"Right, right."

"So?" Wil said, pulling herself close and gripping Petra's crossed ankles. "You were going to tell me everything?"

"Was I?"

"Come on, lamb! Don't hold out on me now!"

Petra studied her, this girl who'd been so cool and remote earlier, so nonchalant as she'd offered a rescue, and yet it occurred to Petra that Wil might have been in need of rescue herself. That perhaps her affectations spoke to loneliness, and her experience was less uncaring and more a desperate effort to connect.

"All right," Petra said. "Just between us, then."

"You got it."

They spoke long into the night. Giggling to solemn, and back again like whiplash. They pulled Petra's covers around themselves and continued on in whispers, long after the candles were blown out. And when they finally crawled into their respective beds and nodded off to sleep in the dark early hours of morning, it was warm and dreamless.

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

That first night, Auruo dreamed of a crater where Karanese once was. Smoke rose from the ruined forge, and a foul wind tossed aside debris; scraps of cloth, burned planks of wood, rotten food. There were buildings with gaping holes, gouged out by massive fists. Piano keys scattered on the street like broken teeth. And bodies everywhere; legs crushed under debris, a flash of his brothers in a pile, his parents in halves, and a solitary hand he recognized as Petra’s, slim fingers curling upward.

He woke drenched in cold sweat, a ragged gasp tearing out of him before he could stuff it down. It took him three heartbeats to realize where he was. It had only been a dream; his family was fine and Petra was whole, and he was curled into an unnatural shape in his bunk, twisted in thin blankets and trying not to scream.

Too harrowed to try and go back to sleep, he untangled himself and stared up at the dark ceiling, counting the multiples he knew and regulating his breathing until it grew slow and even. He listened to the birds that woke before sunrise, committing their calls to memory. By the time dawn light touched the windowsill, he thought he might even be able to mimic them.

Yet even then, he felt a sick knot in the pit of his stomach, one that he suspected wouldn’t go away until he saw Petra for himself and received a letter or two from his family – until he had evidence that they were fine and this was only his subconscious torturing him.

He quickly dressed and followed his classmates out of the barracks into the cool morning. Early sunlight filtered through the fog that veiled the trees, softened the blunt landscape strung with crude buildings and towers; it was almost as if he had stepped into a dream, a place that was only half-conceived, still malleable. He had only ever seen the like on those Sundays when he and Petra woke early enough to see the haze shroud the landscape, the mist curling off their river. He would lie beside her and they would not speak, aware that the haziness of the morning would bleed to whatever words they exchanged, render them insubstantial, or shatter the reverential quiet. Instead, they would watch as the world slowly slid into focus.

He waited in the mess line for breakfast, hardly aware of Martin hovering behind him, an anxious shadow. He was buffeted by boisterous conversation, too loud this morning, too strident. He held out his bowl and watched with dismay as the cooks filled it with a grey mush –some kind of grain that had been boiled too long. The hard knot in his stomach clenched, that merciless block of nausea tormenting him just as badly as the nightmares had.

The two of them found a table in the back of the room, far enough away from the loudmouths that they could hear themselves think. Auruo poked at the mush in his bowl and tried to summon the fortitude necessary to take a bite. “Awful,” he said glumly. “I mean, not like I was expecting anything fancy, seeing that there’s a lot of mouths to feed around here. But I was expecting edible.”

Martin hunched his shoulders. “I was as well.”

Auruo snickered. “Doesn’t it kind of look like snot? Like they just hocked up a vat of snot special for us.”

“You are not making this easier.”

Auruo watched as a glob of mush plopped from the spoon back into his bowl. “ _Bon appétit_ ,” he smirked.

“Why do you find this so funny?” Martin demanded, his pinched features scandalized. “You have to eat it too!”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“Do you plan to starve yourself?”

“Nah,” said Auruo. “A meal’s a meal. I just like to complain.”

“It seems so,” Martin agreed. He took a tentative bite of his mush, somehow keeping a straight face as he chewed and swallowed. “It is not as bad as it looks,” he pronounced.

“There’s a ringing endorsement.” But he took a bite too, and to his surprise Martin was right; it wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever had in his life. (That dubious honor went to the month they’d halved wages at the mill, and he and his family had been forced to subsist on food merchants sold at the end of the day – burnt, stale bread and rancid mash.)

“You think they’ll just serve us mush for all meals?” he asked after swallowing.

Martin poked at the contents of his bowl. “I hope not.”

Auruo scowled at his breakfast. He was not the kind of person to reconsider his convictions just because the food was and probably would continue to be bad, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little homesick at that moment. Even when things were tight and food was scarce, his mother had managed to feed them well, and in ways that didn’t make his stomach turn.

Swallowing his nausea, he scanned the mess line for Petra. It was pathetic, sure, and more than a little ridiculous, but he felt like he hadn’t seen her in much longer than it had actually been. Not that he’d ever admit this bothered him. Not that he’d admit thinking it in the first place. But when he finally did pick her out of the line, it seemed as if some hard fist of anxiety in him loosened, and he could finally breathe.

He was so relieved that he didn’t see the other girl leaning close and whispering in Petra’s ear. He continued not to notice her because Petra giggled at whatever she’d said -- her cheeks flushing, eyes bright, brushing a copper strand of hair that had pulled loose from her braid behind her ears – and he momentarily lost the power of critical thought. _God, she’s pretty._

But then the other girl looked right at him, and he was forced to acknowledge her existence. She had white-blonde hair and a shrewd, clever face – one that instantly put him on guard. She stared at him bluntly, chin lifted and eyes narrowed, without bothering to curb her stare, and her lips curled into a knowing smile. She leaned close and whispered in Petra’s ear again, this time without averting her gaze. He frowned at her. _Who the fuck are you?_

“Hey,” he said when Petra approached him, bowls of steaming mush in her hand. “You’re in time for the first crap breakfast of many.”

“Ha …” she said, taking a hesitant seat across from him. She tried to smile, but it looked awkward, forced, and she refused to meet his eye, a delicate pink blush rising on her cheeks.

“You all right?” he asked before he could think better of it.

"I’m fine. Thank you.”

He stared at her, arching a brow. In the years they’d known each other, she’d never offered such a polite reply to anything he’d said– she was always teasing him, nagging him, laughing with him, and bickering with him over nonsense. The night before, she had smiled at him and waved. Now she couldn’t even look him in the eye?

He was an idiot, but he wasn’t that much of an idiot. The only thing that had changed since last night was the appearance of this shrewd-faced girl at Petra’s side, and he turned to her now. “Who are you?”

The girl flashed him a clever grin. “I’m Wil. Petra’s bunkmate.” Before he could introduce himself, she cut him off. “And you’re Auruo. I’ve heard all about you.”

He frowned at Petra. “Really.”

“Only good things!” Petra said to her bowl.

His frown deepened; he wasn’t sure he liked that any better. And he definitely didn’t like the implication that there were bad things to omit and she was doing him some big favor by leaving them out.

“Right,” he said finally. “This is Martin.”

“It is a pleasure,” said Martin, and he gave an odd, formal bow.

Wil’s grin acquired a predatory edge. “It sure is,” she said as she leaned over her bowl, fingers draped artfully around the rim.

Auruo was hoping to have an ally against this weird stranger that had forced her way into his life, but instead Martin was inexplicably charmed by the overture; he blushed to the roots of his hair, staring down at the coagulated bits of mash in his bowl. “R-right,” he managed.

Auruo gaped at him. 

He didn’t have a chance to reply, because at that moment Axel and his counterpart sank in the last open seats at their table, the former beaming like he could think of nothing he wanted more in life than to join this unbearably awkward breakfast. “Morning, Boss. Martin.”

“Don’t call me that,” Auruo said reflexively. “And what are you doing?”

Axel shoveled a bite of mash into his mouth and swallowed. “Saying good morning to my favorite new people. Eating this outstanding breakfast. Enjoying life.” He turned to Petra, turning the charming grin up to its full luminosity. “Speaking of new people, what’s your name?”

“Ah – it’s Petra.”

“Lovely name. And lovely to meet you.” He grinned. “I’m Axel, this is Oskar. We’re in the same barracks as Boss.”

“ _Don’t call me that!”_

“Nice to meet you,” Petra said, scrutinizing Axel for a long moment. “And don’t call him that.”

“Anything for you.”

Her eyes widened, her gaze darting once to his face before dropping down to her hands, and another blush rose in her cheeks. The effect was lovely, the reason not as much.

 _Oh –right. That’s what this is._ Auruo looked at his own hands, currently clenched in his lap, and struggled to shove the hot lash of rejection down, where he wouldn’t have to look at it or acknowledge its existence ever again. There was no logical reason to feel this way. He should have expected it. He was gawky and ugly and frequently unpleasant, and they were now part of a class full of people who were anything but gawky and ugly and unpleasant. She was ashamed of him, and who could blame her? He was constantly ashamed of himself. 

“And I see you’ve met Wilhelmina already,” Axel was saying. “What a delicious coincidence.”

Abruptly Wil’s self-satisfied air vanished. “It’s Wil,” she said between her teeth. “How many times do I have to tell you before it penetrates that misshapen rock that passes for your skull?”

“At least three,” Axel shot back. “Maybe ten. I _am_ feeling kind of slow this morning.”

Oskar snorted into his bowl.

“You three know each other?” Petra asked.

Wil rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately.”

“She is so cruel,” sighed Axel. “I think of her as one of my closest, dearest friends and this is how she treats me. The pain is almost too much to survive.”

“And yet you manage,” Wil fired back. “I’d call it inspirational if we weren’t talking about you.”

Axel waved this off with a grin. “To answer your question, lovely Petra; yes, we know each other. Wilhelmina’s from nearby village, just an hour’s walk south, actually. Rode the same cart here.” He took another ambitious bite. “Maybe she hasn’t told you this yet, but she had quite a reputation.”

“I’m sure it’s one she’d rather tell me about herself,” Petra cut in quickly. “If she hasn’t already.”

Axel clutched his heart. “My god; beautiful and loyal. I’m in love.”

 _What the fuck is with this guy?_ Auruo thought, staring at him incredulously.

Wil sighed. “Pay no attention to Axel. I’m not even really sure he knows what the word means.”

“Cut out my heart and eat it in front of me, why don’t you?” Axel said, smirking. “Don’t be jealous, Wilhelmina. You know I’ll never get over you.”

“I wish you would!” Wil retorted, but eyes sparkled with mischief. “Like I said. Axel makes a lot of noise, but we’re not really sure if he’s achieved complete sentience yet.” She patted him on the hand. “Maybe someday, little guy. Reach for the stars.”

Wil and Axel carried on bickering, but Auruo was no longer paying attention. With a jolt, he realized Petra was staring at him, her expression oddly overwhelmed, focused completely on his mouth. Unconsciously he brought his fingers to his lips, hoping that maybe there’d been food on his face this whole time and that’s why she was acting so weird, but he felt nothing. She noticed that he’d noticed, and her gaze darted away.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked her, frowning.

Her cheeks were now so red he worried she might actually pass out. “Nothing! I’m just tired.”

He knew she was lying, and it pissed him off. He got to his feet. “Right. I’ll talk to you later, I guess. Nice meeting you,” he said to Wil, and he was so upset that he didn’t remember to be rude until he’d left the mess hall.

Outside, the morning fog had disappeared, so he didn’t even have the satisfaction of disappearing into a haze until uniform fitting. He was angry, his pride slighted, but even worse her oddly cool and awkward treatment had hurt him. He should have been expecting it. He was stupid not to have expected it, so endlessly stupid. But it hurt all the same.

Not that he would ever admit any of this. As far as anyone else was concerned, he didn’t care. Maybe he’d eventually convince himself too.

He heard a sound behind him, and hated that his first, shameful reaction was to feel a small kernel of hope – that maybe she’d followed him like she had four days ago, the day Wall Rose had closed for good. But it was only Martin, his expression pinched with concern.

“Oh – hey,” he said. “Sorry. I’ve got a headache and they’re all being loud assholes.”  

Martin accepted this, though he probably knew it was a lie. “They were a little loud, weren’t they?”

Auruo waited for the pushing and prodding that most people could not seem to resist, but Martin just took a wordless seat beside him, and there they waited until the uniform fitting.

They said no more, and though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this miserable, Auruo appreciated this boy; his quiet, awkward, yet stunningly astute bunkmate, who was little better than a stranger to him, yet still kind enough to offer wordless support when it was needed.

 ~

The uniform fitting was just as irritating a process as he’d feared. The officials had poked, prodded, and measured him along with the rest of the boys, and to his completely dismay he’d been shunted to the side of the room with the rest of the older recruits, forced to stand next to his least favorite person in the world.

He glared at Axel, noting with extreme displeasure that the asshole was even more well-muscled and strong than he’d seemed with his shirt on. He was built less like a boy and more like a barn – all wide shoulders, thick arms. As strong as Auruo himself had always wanted to be.

“See something you like?” Axel said when he caught Auruo’s eye.

“How do you even get that big?” Auruo muttered bitterly. “Dead lifting cows?”

“Among other things,” Axel said with a smug grin. Behind him, Oskar snickered.

Three hours later, he emerged from the warehouse in his uniform. He’d lived his whole life poor, scraping together whatever he could in the slum, and he’d never worn anything so well made in his life. The jacket fit him like a glove, and the stitching was strong (he’d checked – pulling on the seams until convinced they would hold). The belts across his legs and chest had clearly been worked until they achieved the perfect balance between give and tensile strength. A flash of guilt curled in his stomach when he looked at the supple boots on his feet; miles away, back home, his father was still wearing the same shoes he’d worn for the last sixteen years.

His fingers brushed at the twin blade crest stark over his heart. He knew that in three years he would trade those swords for wings, and today he was taking his first steps toward that lifelong aspiration. He would let nothing get in his way; not sleeplessness or nightmares, not the many irritating people he’d met in the last twenty-four hours, or inexplicable behavior of his best friend, who could no longer even look at him.

The officials herded them into rows, sorting them by their home towns. He only had enough time to realize what this meant when he caught sight of Petra, walking toward him – long hair pulled back in a neat braid, her lower lip caught between her teeth, resolutely avoiding his gaze. An odd feeling overwhelmed him.

He stared at her – still angry and weirdly hurt at the way she’d acted during breakfast, but unable to look away. As long as he’d known her, she’d always worn dresses and skirts, and the shape of her had been more or less a mystery. Now, clad in her uniform, there was nothing left to imagination and fanciful speculation that came to him in the middle of the night; her legs were slim, the curve of her hips leading to the curve of her backside in a way that was attractive without his knowing exactly how to describe it, a way that curled in his stomach, shivering in this thoughts.

Unbidden, he remembered that when he’d pinned her, that last Sunday before they left for training, her dress had slid midway up her thighs, and he had seen more of her bare, mysterious skin than he knew what to do with.

Swallowing hard, he looked away. _You can’t lose your fucking mind every time she wears pants,_ he thought angrily. It didn’t matter what she looked like; didn’t matter that she was so gorgeous it made his stomach hurt. She was a brat, and he was pissed; less that she’d been charmed by the inexplicable Axel, and more that she hadn’t been able to talk to him, couldn’t even look at him, more than he’d clearly done something to upset her, and she couldn’t even tell him what it was.

This was probably for the best, he thought. Maybe it would be what helped him finally get over his humiliating desire.

The Commander strode through the ranks, haranguing the weaker looking recruits and passing the stronger ones by. And he hated this, but he couldn’t pay attention to anything – not the Commander’s hard bite of a voice echoing through the enclosure, not the trembling replies of his peers as they struggled to keep their composure. He heard the words in a passive, distant way because he was too aware of Petra. It was like his entire body had become a conduit of awareness, and he couldn’t shift his focus to anything else. He was aware of her breathing, aware of her tight shoulders, the stiff way she stood next to him, and – he could hardly stand it – the way she began to shake the closer the Commander drew to their position.

“When the Commander comes, you can’t talk back to him,” she whispered, leaning close. He could feel her breath on his neck.

A jolt shot through him. He hated how much he’d wanted to hear her voice, how badly he’d wanted to feel her this near. “So now you’re talking to me?” he retorted, because anger was easier.

“I’m serious, Auruo!”

“ _Shh!”_

“He’s going to try and get under your skin – that’s the whole point. Just say yes sir no sir until he goes away, okay?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot or something? You think I’m just going to go out of my way to piss off the guy in charge?”

“I _know_ you have a temper, and you don’t always think things through. Just try to keep it under control, all right?”

 _“Will you shut up?!!_ He’ll hear you!” he hissed.

And he hated this most out of everything that had happened today; her expression crumpled in hurt, and she turned away, facing forward, biting her lip hard enough that he worried she’d bite the whole fucking thing off.

 _I don’t deserve you,_ he thought miserably.  

With a smart heel-turn, the Commander came to a stop and stared through him, his flint-like eyes narrowing. He was powerfully built, clearly a veteran of many battles, and had a hard, craggy face that gave the impression of survived loss, trenched deep with displeasure and suffering. He pursed his thin lips, as if he found something not to his taste. “Your name.”

He performed the salute. “Auruo Bossard. Sir.”

“Hm. How old are you, Bossard?”

“Sixteen. Sir.”

“You’re old for a recruit,” said the Commander, leaning so closely that their faces were only inches apart. “How about it, Bossard? Did it take you four years to get your nut up?”

His clenched fist shook on his chest, and he swallowed the wave of temper that nearly choked him. “No, sir.”

“What’s that? Couldn’t hear you.”

“I said no, sir!”

“Look at you; shaking like a leaf. All this a little too much for you, Bossard?”  

“No, sir!”

The Commander narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, I’m thinking it is. I’m thinking you’re one of the quitters. You a quitter, Bossard?”

He grit his teeth. “ _No, sir!”_

“You look like a quitter. You look like you’ll run crying home to your momma in a week flat.”

It happened in less than a second. In the very distant part of his mind where logic and circumspection lived, he knew that he shouldn’t. He was a soldier now, and he needed to learn when to keep his big mouth shut. But he was exhausted and hungry and harrowed by nightmares. He was driven by the fear that the longer Petra spent around people who clearly were better and more interesting than him, the less she’d want to do with him – gawky, stupid, and _so angry,_ with nothing of value to offer. He was twelve years old again, desperate to snatch the cigarette out of an obnoxious bully’s mouth and throw it in the river.

“Auruo, _don’t,”_ Petra hissed next to him. But the words bubbled up his throat, burgeoning on his tongue, and he could not swallow them.

“D’you think you could move downwind?” he snapped unthinkingly “Or maybe stop chewing on assholes? That’d be great, thanks.”

 ~

Petra sat on the porch outside the common hall, picking at a hangnail on her thumb. In the distance she could see Auruo’s shape emerging from the darkness, his hard breathing ripping through the otherwise quiet enclosure. For the last six hours, he’d been running with two other insubordinate recruits, first as fast as he could, waves of temper radiating from him like heat, but now each footfall seemed to tax him beyond his ability to recover. He staggered, arms swinging loosely at his sides, but on his face was the same expression of furious resolve. She thought it might be permanently written there.

She’d expected to maintain her vigil alone, but to her surprise everyone from breakfast was there; Wil, of course, Axel and Oskar, and even the quiet boy named Martin, who had said nothing the whole evening but watched the darkness just as anxiously as she did.

“Run ‘till you can’t, Bossard,” the Commander had said, shoving him hard down the path. And Auruo had. He would, until he couldn’t – he would force himself to go as long as possible, because she knew the last thing he wanted was for anyone to think he was weak.

“He should have dropped hours ago,” Wil said, crossing her arms. “Who cares what the Commander says? He doesn’t have to run himself to death.”

“He’s too proud,” Petra said, watching Auruo disappear around the barracks again, and the sound of his ragged breathing twisted her stomach into knots, cut right through her heart. “Too stubborn.”

“Brainless,” said Axel.

“Now, hold on a minute!” Petra snapped, her temper flaring to life. As far as she was concerned, she was the only person allowed to criticize Auruo’s idiosyncrasies. “He won’t cheat or take the easy way out, and in my opinion that’s admirable! He has principles, and that’s nothing to turn up your nose at, especially since it seems to me like you have none!”

“She’s got you there,” Wil added, smirking.

But Axel grinned too. “I was only teasing,” he said cheekily. “No need to rush to your boyfriend’s defense.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Petra retorted with the appropriate fire, but to her dismay a flush warmed her face.

And Axel saw it, offering another cheeky shrug. “If you say so.”

Wil cut her off before she could reply. “Hey Axel, sugar plum? How about you come with me for a second.”

Axel wrinkled his nose. “Sugar plum? What the fuck?”

Wil ignored this, grabbing Axel by the arm and dragging him off until they were well out of earshot. Fuming, Petra turned away and stared into the darkness, watching hard for any sign of Auruo.

This day couldn’t have gone worse if she’d planned specifically for a disaster. She’d coached herself extensively that morning – _don’t look at his lips, don’t think about that thing Wil said about his …thing, don’t think at all. DON’T BE WEIRD, WEIRDO._ But the moment she’d caught sight of him grinning at her, in that adorable way that made her chest hurt, the easy camaraderie they shared vanished. She hadn’t been able to speak. Her hands had trembled. She could only manage polite responses to his increasingly worried and hurt questions, and that had been the end of that.

She flushed, thinking about his lips – his fingers brushing the corner of his mouth (and those fingers!) She hadn’t been able to breathe. She couldn’t breathe now. And it infuriated her -- this stupid, weak reaction to someone she cared for so totally. She wished desperately that she could be learned and worldly like Wil, for whom it didn't seem like these troubles were a challenge.

The worst part was, he probably thought she was mad at him, or something equally wrong. That’s how Auruo was. He assumed the worst.

With a heavy sigh, Wil dropped next to her and slung one arm carelessly around Petra’s shoulders. “Sorry, lamb. I’m back.”

“What was all that about?”

Wil shook her head. “There are not enough good deeds in the world for you two dumb shits.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m sorry I said that thing about cocks.” Her frowned deepened. “Like actually sorry, not just saying I’m sorry.”

“You were just saying it before?!”

“Well, I had no idea you’d both be such idiots about it!” She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “God, you lamb. I thought you might actually pass out, just faceplant right in your breakfast.”

“I felt like I would,” Petra muttered, hugging her knees.

“Just don’t look at his lips ever again, all right? Think you can manage that? Because apparently you both just fall to pieces when you can’t do your weird codependent thing.”

“We’re not codependent.”

Wil arched a brow. “He literally looked like you’d stabbed him. You’ve been moping all day. He goes off and self-destructs right in the Commander’s face. You’re both codependent and it kind of makes me sick.”

Petra frowned, deeply annoyed that Wil was able to make this kind of observation after seeing them together for one day. “We’re not codependent,” she said again, though she knew she wasn’t convincing anyone.

“Right, right,” Wil sighed. “Whatever you say.”

The worst part was that she knew Wil was right. Maybe they were, a little. It was the risk involved in spending every day of her life with someone, sneaking into their room at night so she could talk without listening ears, and spending the time they weren’t together thinking about what she’d tell him as soon as she saw him again.

She peered into the darkness, a horrible jolt curdling in her gut. “I can’t hear him anymore.”

It was true – no more scuffing boots on the gravel as he forced himself harder. Even the sound of his ragged breathing had stopped, and for a second she feared that he’d actually dropped dead somewhere in the field behind the barracks. But before she could panic, she saw him reemerge from behind the farthest building, wobbling in place for a moment before keeling right over, landing hard face first in the dirt.  

She was on her feet and moving toward him before even consciously aware of it.

“There he is,” Axel said, dropping off the porch behind her with a loud thud. “Think I’ll help him back; doesn’t seem like he’s getting up anytime soon.” And with that, he took off at a brisk jog toward the pile of exhausted sixteen-year old boy that was Auruo. But she was faster – she reached Auruo before any of them, dropping to her knees at his side and rolling him onto his back.

“Auruo?!”

“Petra,” he gasped. “You’re … hurting my arm.”

 _Oh – right_. She let go.

“And there’s the champion,” grinned Axel, leaning down. “How’s about we get you back, huh?”

Mumbling from the pile of Auruo – they both had to crane closer to hear him. “If you pick me up ...” he wheezed, “I’ll knock your fuckin’ teeth out.”

“Auruo!” she hissed.

But Axel only laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Boss. Come on, throw your arm around my shoulder.”

“Don’t call me that,” Auruo muttered, but he acquiesced without any further protest.

Gently, Axel half-carried him back to their barracks before propping him against the side of the building. She saw that Auruo’s legs shook, and though he was slowly catching his breath, he seemed so weak, hardly even able to keep himself upright. She’d never seen him so exhausted, not even after his first week of working in the steel mill.

“I’ve gotta admit,” Wil said, crouching next to him. “Didn’t think you’d last that long.”

Auruo glanced at Petra before looking away. “’ve got a lot of practice. Running, I mean.”

Whatever resolve she’d managed to find wavered, and she swallowed hard. _God, you idiot!_

Martin frowned down at him. “Why not just run for a few hours? I don't think the Commander would have known the difference.”

“Because … because it was – a fuckin’ challenge!” Auruo snapped. ”‘Run ‘til you can’t,’ that’s what he said. Like I’d just fall over after one lap.”

“You are lucky they didn't kick you out.”

“They wouldn’t kick me out, not for mouthing off anyway,” Auruo shrugged, his voice hoarse. “They’re too hard up for soldiers. They need everyone that can cut it.”

“You sure you’ll be one of the ones that can cut it?” Axel said. Behind him, Oskar smirked.

“You’re fuckin’ right, I will be,” Auruo snarled. “That old asshole thinks he can scare me away. He’ll see.”

“You have principles, Boss,” said Axel with a wink. “And I’ve been informed by a lovely authority that they’re admirable things to have.”

Petra could have kicked him.

~ 

The six of them sat on the porch for the entire evening until curfew, and the entire time Petra felt as if her anxiety would chew a hole in her stomach. She watched Auruo out of the corner of her eye – noting that he could breathe, but his body still shook with exhaustion. She waited until Wil had distracted the others with one of her stories before scooting close enough that they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Hey,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” he muttered. “Look, Petra, it’s been a pretty shitty day, and if you tell me ‘I told you so’, I’m probably gonna say some things I really won’t like saying to you, and I’ll feel even worse about them later when I can think straight, so just – please don’t.”

She glared at him. “You're a terrible mind-reader. Just ... be quiet for a minute so I can get this out.”

“Oh, I'm terrible, am I?" he retorted, his voice bending under the weight of sarcasm. Before, she'd have found it annoying; today, that annoyance was tempered with inexplicable tenderness. 

She let out a breath, steeling herself. “I was going to say I’m sorry.”

Whatever smart retort he’d been planning died on his lips, and instead he gaped at her, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. And she looked at him right back– propped against the side of the barracks, his ashy blond hair streaked with dirt, those damn lips turned into a frown, hazel eyes serious and hooded with hurt she could tell he was trying not to feel. “You’re sorry, huh,” he said quietly.

“Yes, I am.”

After a moment, he shrugged. “Yeah. I am too. I mean, for snapping at you.” He picked at his fingernails. “What was even going on with you today, anyway?”

She flushed. “It’s … not important.”

“It’s not anything I did, is it?”

“No. It wasn’t. It isn’t.” _Not anything you did intentionally, anyway._

He swallowed. “All right.”

They said no more, watching the stars peeking through the feathery tops of pine trees. And she tried to tell herself that things could go back to normal, that it could be exactly like it had been only days ago, when she’d crawled into his bedroom window because she couldn’t stand not to see his face or hear his voice. She’d been so blind then, and she vastly preferred that blindness to awareness, because a life without Auruo was not one she wanted to contemplate, but she had no idea how to forge ahead, or if he even wanted the strange, wonderful things she suddenly found herself wanting.

A few days ago, she could have reached out and held his hand. Tonight, they sat separately, arms crossed around themselves, protecting from something neither of them fully understood.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Like the night before, Petra and Wil conferred until the lanterns were extinguished, speaking in whispers so they woudn't be overheard by the rest of the girls in their barracks. Petra undid her braid and combed through the messy strands, and Wil spent most of the night twisting her hair up into elaborate shapes, her cool fingers brushing against Petra’s neck.

“If I had hair like yours I’d never cut it,” she said, grinning.

“What are you talking about?” Petra arched a brow. “You have pretty hair”

“Eh. It’s really thin and it gets tangled easily, so I just lop it all off. Easier to manage. Especially now that I’m a soldier.” Wil slammed her fist to her heart in a mocking approximation of the salute. “Gotta think about the soldier kinds of things, now.”

“Weren’t you already?”

“Well, yeah. I guess. But I mean, when you’re a dumb kid in some dumpy village, it’s all … off in the future, you know? It’s this big adventure that’s still a long way off, so you just build it up in your mind to keep from dying of boredom. Now I’m here, and reality’s creeping up on me.”

Petra was quiet. She’d been thinking about this too.

“Ah, lamb. Don’t let me bum you out.”

“You’re not. I’m just … a little lost today, I guess.” Petra ducked her head. Lost didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Because of that thing about the cocks?”

“ _Stop calling it that.”_ Petra rubbed her eyes in an attempt to try and scrub the speculation out of her mind. 

Wil snorted, dissolving into giggles that were too adorable for her favored cool facades. “I’m sorry, I really am. It’s just that unless the whole thing repulses you outright, you’re going to have to come to terms with it eventually.”

“The problem is that it doesn’t repulse me,” she admitted after a moment. “Not even a little.”

“ _I knew it._ A seductress in the making.”

“Will you stop?!”

“Ah crap. I’m sorry.” Wil gave her shoulder a little shake. “I'm used to giving people a hard time. And just because I adore you doesn’t mean you get a free pass.”

“You adore me, huh?”

Wil shrugged. “Sure. You’re adorable.”

Petra had to bite down on the ‘ _ugh’_ halfway out of her mouth; the word was Auruo’s favorite response whenever she said the same about him. “Thanks, I suppose.”

“No supposing about it.” Wil flashed her another quicksilver grin. “Anyway. I’m sorry I contributed to your hard day.”

Petra shrugged.  “It was nowhere near as hard as Auruo’s.”

Wil snorted. “That dumbass isn’t even going to be able to walk tomorrow.”

Petra knew she shouldn’t laugh, and it wasn’t funny anyway – but the whole situation was so unfunny that it almost came out the other end into hilarity. “It’ll hurt, probably. But he will.”

“God. When you said you’d be surprised if he didn’t get into a fight, I believed you. I just didn’t think he’d go pick a fight with the fucking Commandant.”

Petra giggled and promptly felt guilty about it. But it was just like him, she thought; he didn’t care who you were, he cared what you did. And that mattered to her. “Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised about that.”

Wil combed her fingers through Petra’s hair. “I don’t think he liked me very much. But I like him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s funny.”

“He wasn’t really funny today.”

“I thought he was,” Wil insisted, smirking. “And anyone who adores someone like you as much as he clearly does can't be that bad.”

Petra felt her cheeks grew warm. “I don’t think it’s like that for him.”

“Uh huh. How’s that?”

“He’s my oldest friend,” Petra said, smoothing the covers over her knees. “And until yesterday, he was my only friend. I know his parents and brothers just as well as my own father. So to him … I mean, we’re practically family. He probably sees me like a little sister.”

“Oh, _lamb.”_

“Don’t ‘oh, lamb’ me,” Petra snapped. “I know him better than you do.”

“Yeah, but you’re also blinded by feelings. Tricky, unreliable things.” 

“And you’re not?”

Wil shrugged blithely. “I don’t have feelings anymore. I laugh at everything, and nothing touches me.”

She’d meant it as a joke, but to Petra the words sounded inexplicably sad. Wil heard it too, and before Petra could say anything she’d cleared her throat, charming smile back in place. “Anyway. My point is you don’t really see the situation clearly because you’re infatuated.”

Infatuated wasn’t really the right word, but Petra didn’t feel like arguing the matter. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“So what’s different about training than how you always thought?” Petra asked after a long moment.

Wil twisted Petra’s hair into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. “Well, for one thing we haven’t even really started training yet. That’s tomorrow. You know, learning how to use 3DMG.”

Petra nodded encouragingly; she had been looking forward to it.

Wil sighed. “I don’t know. I sure as hell didn’t see Axel and Oskar here with me. Pretty sure Axel joined up just to fuck with me.”

Petra was quiet, weighing her curiosity against circumspection. “Did … something happen? Between you two?”

Wil’s lips twisted – with humor or disdain? “Yeah, something happened. And before you start getting all upset, it’s not a really big deal.”

“Did you sleep with him?” Petra whispered, remembering Wil’s claims to experience from the night before.

Wil hesitated, but after a moment her lips tugged into a grin. “If you could call it that.”

“What do you mean?”

She leaned closer, her features almost manic with mischief. “ _He’s a terrible lay.”_

_“What?!”_

 Wil put her hand on her heart and adopted an air of utter solemnity. “I swear on my future grave.”

“Ugh, don’t say things like that.” Petra shivered. “God.”

“Why not? Everyone has one.” Wil bared her teeth. “Don’t tell me you’re superstitious, lamb.”

“I just have a healthy respect for serious things.”

“That’s dull as shit.”

Petra scowled. “ _Anyway.”_

“Yes, indeed. Back to the matter at hand.” Wil tugged on the ends of Petra’s hair. “That matter being Axel and his utter lack of prowess.”

Petra kept a straight face only through great personal effort. “I thought – I mean, Axel’s so –“

“Such a cad, you mean? Hits on everything.”                                             

“Right,” Petra whispered. “You’d think he’d know what he was doing.”

“He doesn’t,” Wil hissed delightedly. “ _Not at all!”_

_“Oh my god.”_

Petra knew she would probably feel guilty about it later, but Wil snorted with laughter and that set her off, and they sat there in her bunk, giggling stupidly about Axel’s lack of prowess for far longer than the fact actually deserved.

“I probably should cut him a break,” Wil said, wiping her eyes. “He’s a bit of a dumbass, but he means well. Usually.” She gestured dismissively. “I mean it doesn’t change the fact that he’s absolutely terrible in bed, but there is that. He does mean well.” 

This was all new to Petra, who had thought extensively on the subject but had zero actual experience. “What did he do wrong, exactly?” she whispered.

“Ugh. More than I can really explain in one conversation.”

Regardless, Petra waited for the explanation since up to this point Wil had been generous with them, but she did not elaborate. And though Petra was curious, she let the subject drop.

After a moment, Wil shrugged. “Like I said, it wasn’t that big of a deal. And I mean it too, I’m not just saying that to get you to leave me alone.”

“All right.”

“Don’t be put out, lamb. I’ll tell all one of these days.” Her grin became sly. “Especially now that it looks like I’m responsible for your education.”

“I could always figure it out on my own,” Petra huffed. “I’m not an idiot.”

“And I’m not saying you are,” Wil said, piling Petra’s hair elaborately on top of her head. “Not right now, anyway.”

Petra didn’t respond to the barb; instead, she noted the skillful movements of Wil’s hands as she worked, quick fingers, sure motions. “Where did you learn to do this?”

She felt Wil shrug. “I’d do it for my mom. She used to do everyone’s hair. Not like we were rich or anything, but she’s really feminine, always had to be put together like a real lady. Same for me and my sisters. But hasn’t been able to do much with her hands for years; they shake too badly. So I learned, so she could have her ladylike hair.

“I mean, my sisters can too. Just that Gert is the oldest and kind of a shithead, thinks it shouldn’t be her job. And Izzy is the youngest, and it really shouldn’t be her job.” Wil sighed. “There you have it.”

Suddenly, the fact that Wil kept her hair closely cropped to her head felt much more significant. “Is that why you cut yours?” Petra said, frowning.

Wil withdrew her hands, and Petra’s hair tumbled down her back. “Like I said. It’s easier to manage.”

Petra was quiet, a hard knot tightening in the pit of her stomach. It had been long enough that she should be able to discuss mothers and illness without the memories resurfacing, yet they resurfaced anyway. She remembered more than her mother’s death, which had happened when she was eight, but that end had been so terrible that it often tainted every lovely memory that had come before. It had turned the bright, energetic woman with busy hands who sang and told stories to a wisp of a woman with covers wrapped tightly around her thin shoulders, her bones sharp as knives under taut skin, copper hair that faded to wispy white well before her time. It replaced the memory of her mother dancing with her father in the kitchen, and left only this image: a cup of tea rattling in her hands before shattering on the floor. She bit hard on the inside of her cheek, swallowing the old grief.

Whatever these thoughts did to Petra’s expression, Wil noticed. “You think I’m horrible,” she managed in a strange, brittle voice, misunderstanding. “Leaving my sick mom behind.”

Petra shook her head fervently. “No.”           

“I am, though.” Wil looked down at her upturned hands, the feathery lines that branched across her palms. “I’m not here for any special, noble reason. I wanted to get away from her.”

Petra couldn’t stand it; she took Wil’s hands in her own, squeezing them tightly. “I understand,” she said. “I really do.”

Wil shook her head, drawing a shaky breath. “Fuck,” she said. “I had a plan, okay? I wasn’t going to talk about any of this goddamn stupid shit. Who even wants to hear about it?”

“I do,” Petra said.  “I’ll listen to anything you need to say.”

After a moment, Wil’s quicksilver grin was back, though it lacked her usual verve. “Nah. It’s fine. It is what it is. If you don’t mind, maybe we could go back to talking about cocks and the idiots they’re attached to, and just … forget I said anything about this stupid shit, huh?”

Petra would rather talk about anything else, since she couldn’t seem to talk about it without embarrassing herself, or even consider it without summoning visions of her best friend, inexplicably in various stages of undress. But at that moment she felt incredible sadness for her friend, and she knew she’d do anything she needed, anything that would ease her trouble, if only a little. She smiled. “That sounds fun.”

~ 

Auruo could barely get out of bed the next morning. His entire body thrummed with ache; his legs too stiff to move, his arms and shoulders so sore that even breathing sent tight waves of pain through his besieged muscles. He stood with great difficulty and winced; even his feet hurt.

Martin noticed the wince. “Are you all right?”

“Yep,” Auruo said with a tight grin, waving him off. “Just fine.” 

He wasn’t really, but it was going to be a long day of pretending he was fine, nothing hurt, of _course not,_ so he might as well get an early start on making the lie convincing.

Aches aside, he’d slept through the whole night, too exhausted even for nightmares. And that seemed like a good omen.

At breakfast the recruits were informed that a schedule would be set in a few days, where they would divide their time between the relevant academic studies, horseback, survival, and combat, but today and tomorrow they were going to be tested for their general aptitude and potential in 3DMG. It made sense to Auruo – no point in wasting time and training on anyone who couldn’t hack the most important skillset of the military. But anxiety coiled hard in his gut, turning breakfast into a block of stress. It would figure if he failed this assessment because he was almost too sore too move, if he ruined his chances because he was too stupid to keep his mouth shut and too stubborn to be smart about his punishment.

Axel clapped him hard on the back, and the shot of pain brought him crashing back to the present. “You doing alright there, Boss?”

“Sure am,” he said between clenched teeth. “Don’t fuckin’ call me that.”

“Sorry, sorry. I keep forgetting."

Auruo wasn’t so sure. And in fact, he was starting to get irritated with everyone asking him how he was, like he was on his last legs and the only way to keep him from crumbling to pieces was to check on him every two minutes. He ducked his head and shoveled the rest of breakfast into his mouth, the better to avoid fielding questions.

After breakfast, the trainees congregated in the main enclosure, where a row of rudimentary harnesses had been erected in orderly rows. Auruo quickly understood that they were meant to balance in the harness, and that those who were unable to do so would be sent home in disgrace. He frowned.

“What is it?” Petra asked him.

“We’re just supposed to balance, right?”

“That’s what it looks like.”

He shrugged. “I just thought this whole test thing would be harder.”

Petra watched as the officials prepared the harnesses for use, her lips pursing. “Supposedly it’s pretty hard just to balance.”

“If it were that hard, you think three years would be enough to learn how to hack it?”

“Three years is a long time.”

He scowled at her. “You’re disagreeable today.”

“You’re disagreeable every day,” she shot back. But she grinned, and after a moment he grinned too. It wasn’t completely back to normal – normal being her ability to rake him over the coals regarding anything and everything, and tease him until she couldn’t breathe from laughing – but he felt like it was a step in the right direction. He wouldn’t be picky.

“How are you feeling, by the way?” she asked, craning up to look at him.

“ _I’m fine,”_ he said, goodwill all but forgotten. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Because you don’t look fine,” she said. “Remember what I said about lying to me?”

“Yeah, but I bet you’re going to remind me anyway.”

Another small grin. “It’s pointless because I know you. Out with it.”

He sighed, scuffing at the ground with his boots. “I’m fine. Just a little sore, is all.”

“A little?”

“For fuck’s sake. _Yes.”_

But she didn’t respond to the curse; instead she fixed him with a worried expression, brows low over her eyes ( _really fucking pretty eyes),_ and the block of breakfast in his gut flopped weakly before lodging itself somewhere in the back of his throat. _I swear to god if you puke on her –_

“Don’t give me the worried face, okay?” he cut in before she could say anything that might really knock him on his ass. “I can’t deal with worried Petra right now.”

“Well I wouldn’t want to overburden you or anything,” she retorted. “God forbid. What does that even mean, anyway?”

“It means you fret,” he pointed out in what he imagined was an equitable tone. “All the fuckin’ time. You’re kind of a nag.”

She rounded on him. “I am not!”

“How have we not had this conversation before? Yeah you are.”

“Give me one example!”

He smirked. “What are you doing right now? Right this second? Chatting? Shooting the breeze? Are we having a friendly exchange of events and ideas? No. You’re nagging. This is practically your fuckin’ resting state.”

“Don’t use that language.”

“See? _See?”_ he said, smirk widening. “Can you even help yourself?”

He’d caught her and she knew it. She blew her bangs out of her eyes and glowered at him, and he found the gesture so unbearably endearing that for a moment he forgot that everything hurt and he was minutes away from determining his fate in the only thing he’d ever wanted to do with his life.

“Is this you telling me you want me to leave you alone?” she asked.

“Nah,” he said, trying to play it cool, though the very suggestion made the block of breakfast churn in his gut.“I mean, what would you even do with yourself if you couldn’t rake some poor dumbshit over the coals?”

“You being that dumbshit, of course.”

 _Of course?! “_ Sure.” He grinned down at her. “Look at you, two days in the military and already cursing like the best of them.”

“You’re a bad influence,” she told him.

“Probably,” he agreed. “You knew that already.”

“God, did I.” The start of a grin tugged at her lips. “From day one.”

“There you go. And just so you know, being a nag is not necessarily a bad thing.”

“No?”

“Nope.”

She studied him carefully. “Why not?”

 _Because it means you care._ “Because it’s funny.”

“Oh … right,” she said, facing the harnesses again, and he thought briefly that her tone seemed disappointed, liked she’d been looking for a different answer, or maybe could sense that he’d given her one that was only a part of the truth, missing its essential core. She probably hadn’t meant it as a test, but he’d failed it anyway.

He’d been halfway to confessing the real reason when the Commander announced to their block of recruits that the exercise would begin, so he shut his mouth and tried to ignore the nagging feeling that every time he said something stupid and cowardly and untrue, he pushed Petra further away.

As Petra was led to her harness, he caught Wil staring at him with a speculative expression, her shockingly blue eyes narrowed in thought. When she met his gaze, her lips pulled into a smirk.

“What?” he asked her.

“You really are terrible liar,” she said, her smirk widening diabolically. “Just pitiful.”

So she’d been eavesdropping. He frowned. “What would you know about it.”

“Plenty.”

He turned away, fuming. Leave it to Petra to go and adopt the most irritating person she could find in her barracks.

“Oh, goodness. Have I struck a nerve?” Wil asked, delighted.  

“What do you want me to say? Gee, stranger; thank you kindly for these unwelcome insights into my character, which are almost certainly true and not just random fuckin’ guesses by someone who wouldn’t know an asshole from an elbow.”

“Colorful,” Wil grinned. “But wrong. I would know, and in fact I _do_ know. You’re utter shit at lying. You’re so pitiful that this random stranger sees it.”

“And I’m sure saying that over and over again makes it _extra true.”_ He sneered. “Better say it a few more times for good measure.”

Unlike Petra, this girl was impossible to throw off with rudeness or sarcasm; in fact, it seemed to Auruo that she thrived on it. “You _are_ going to be fun.”

“What the fuck is that even supposed to mean?”

“Just what I said.” Her grin acquired a manic edge. “You can unclench now.”

He didn’t have a chance retort because in that moment the assistant Lieutenant called his name, gesturing to the empty harness next to Petra’s. He swallowed hard, a new wave of anxiety reanimating the block of breakfast currently wreaking havoc in his stomach. He was not going to puke. He was not going to wince. It was going to hurt, and he was going to keep a straight face.

“Now, we’re just looking for potential,” the assistant said kindly as she strapped him into the harness. “We don’t expect mastery today. We just want to see some general instinct for it.”

That was worse, in his opinion, as it was a lot harder to fake instinct. “Right,” he managed.  

He surveyed the enclosure. In the distance he could see small figures floundering in their harnesses, accompanied by dismayed shouting. A few contraptions down the row, a small, black hair girl flailed desperately for purchase, but no matter what she did she could not seem to right herself. He saw her jaw set, her hands balling into fists. She had a distinctly unfriendly face, but in that moment he pitied her.

“Your name, again?” one of the assistants asked her.

The girl chewed savagely at her lip. “Johanna Mueller,” she bit out.

She was able to manage a cobbled approximation of balance on her next lift, but everyone could see it was a precarious thing. Regardless, Johanna Mueller’s expression was one of fierce satisfaction.

To his right, Petra hung suspended in her harness, balanced perfectly. She looked as if she’d been born to it, as if she was a heartbeat away from grappling the side of the building and soaring through the air, and in fact walking earthbound was the unnatural arrangement. He remembered her running, how it often seemed that she didn’t touch the ground, and realized that her aptitude here wasn’t much a surprise.

_Fucking get it together._

“Are you ready?” the assistant asked him.

He nodded tightly, gritting his teeth.

The assistant wound the crank, and for a second he thought he’d be a natural too – his feet no longer touched the ground, he wasn’t flailing, he wasn’t falling, he was actually going to do this! – but the straps bit into his besieged muscles, and the pain nearly knocked him over. He bit back the gasp halfway out of his mouth only at the last minute.

It was a disaster. No matter what he did or where he shifted his weight, he couldn’t seem to find that elusive balance. The longer he flailed the more frustrated he became, until all he could think was that the moment they let him down they’d kick his ass out, send him back to Karanese in disgrace, and he’d live out the rest of his miserable, pitiful life knowing that he couldn’t even manage the most basic element of being a soldier, that he was so pathetic he’d wait around with the rest of the world for the Titans to come back and break through the Walls, after which they’d eat his family and the people he cared about, and there was nothing he’d be able to do about it.

“Auruo!” Petra said, cupping her hand against her mouth so her whisper would carry (and he noted with an odd mixture of pride and jealousy that this did not compromise her own balance whatsoever). “Calm down.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, his arms windmilling as he struggled to right himself.

“Auruo,” she said, shooting him a look, and he understood that look better than he understood most explicit language. “Look at me.”

An odd jolt shot through him. “W-what?”

“Do this with your legs.” She demonstrated, and he hated that the first thought that flashed through his mind was how badly he’d like to touch those legs someday, and not acknowledgement that she was trying to help him achieve his fucking life aspirations. _God damn it, you fucking idiot, get it together,_ he cursed himself angrily. With a hitch of breath, he copied her posture as best he could, and to his surprise he balanced out almost immediately. She beamed at him. “Better, right?”

He was nowhere close to being as stable as she was – she didn’t even wobble. But he wasn’t flailing, wasn’t a breath away from flopping over and smacking his head on the posts or something. The straps bit into his sore body, but the moment he steadied he no longer felt any pain, and the moment she smiled at him, he forgot that there had been pain in the first place.

“Thanks Petra,” he managed.

“You’d be in so much trouble without me,” she said, grinning at him as she swayed in her harness.

“I’d do alright.”

“You would fall flat on your face.”

It was true, but he couldn’t even manage the presence of mind to be irritated about it, because he wasn’t a failure, he’d managed this most essential element of his training and wouldn’t be sent home in disgrace, because she was smiling at him like she had for years, like nothing had changed, and she looked so beautiful.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Auruo fidgeted. At the front of the room, Instructor Hall indicated a painstakingly rendered diagram on the blackboard with a ruler. Her voice faded to an indistinct whine as she spoke, and no matter how hard Auruo tried to concentrate, her tone made the endeavor impossible.

“Now if you are skilled, you can use the stream of gas to manipulate your path,” she said, tapping the blackboard. Auruo perked – practical 3DMG use was interesting. But it had only been a throwaway mention; soon she was elucidating the history of the invention, and Auruo felt his eyes glaze over.

To his right, Martin scrawled his notes in cramped handwriting, brushing away pencil shavings at irregular intervals. Auruo knew that he wouldn’t mind sharing what he’d managed to glean from the lecture later; in fact, his mercy was really the only reason Auruo hadn’t been drummed out of training by now, almost a year later.

Auruo glanced out the window, daring to hope. Slate grey sky stretched over the compound, thick clouds heavy with the promise of snow. He sent up a half-coherent prayer to whoever was listening that those clouds would pass, that instead of another day-long lecture they’d be permitted to resume physical training, which was the only aspect of their education that he was halfway decent at. But the clouds broke and a blanket of snow descended, almost as if that uncaring god had heard his prayers and decided to do the opposite for the sole purpose of tormenting him.

He let his head thunk on the desk in dismay.

He heard scribbling to his left, felt the corner of a notebook jabbing into his forearm. He looked up into Petra’s amused face, and then down at the words on the page she offered.

            _You’re being dramatic again._

He pulled the notebook to his side of the desk and scrawled a reply, which took twice as long as it took her.

            **_Don’t you see the snow?_**

_Sure. I’m not blind._

**_So that means no practical work today._ **

_There’s always tomorrow, you know._

**_But that’s TOMORROW, with a big fat maybe attached. I can’t handle another whole day cooped up in this goddamn room, listening to Hall turn things that should be interesting into boring fucking garbage._ **

_If you’re going to write in my notes, you can’t swear._

He took the opportunity to do so under his breath. ‘Fuckin’ insufferable,’ he grumbled, and she made a face.

            **_Fine. No more swearing._**

 **** _Ever???_

_**In your stupid notes.**_

But she smiled, satisfied.

            _You really should pay attention, you know._

_**Why. None of this stuff matters that much.**_

**** _Yes it does._

She scowled up at him when he shook his head and furiously scribbled an addendum.

            _Why wouldn’t it matter?_

_**I just don’t think it’s going to make much of a difference if we know exactly how the 3DMG was invented. Who made it, how many years it took to work out the kinks. Like maybe it’s interesting trivia, but it’s not going to save our lives when we’re out there in the field.**_

She allowed this with a shrug.

            _So maybe today’s lesson isn’t that essential. But you know they determine our strategy scores based on the work we do in here. Our written final plays a huge part._

**_There’s the practical in Karanese during our last year too._ **

**** _You think you can ignore everything that goes on in here and then just breeze through the practical._

He shot her a cocky grin.

            **_Maybe. We’ll see, won’t we?_**

_I thought you’d care more about your ranking._

To be honest, he did care. He cared so much it made him sick. He hated the thought of being bested by people who’d just use their superior rank to get into the Military Police, where they would go on to live their cushy lives on the safe side of Wall Sina, doing whatever soft things it was that those cowards did. His bias probably had a lot to do with the fact that Military Police had been the aspiration of the bullies who’d tormented him throughout childhood, but there was another part to it; he hated that those who were the most skilled should have the choice to get away from the front lines, where they’d do the most good.

It had been the subject of heated debate the first week of their training. Axel insisted that those who wanted to go serve the King and live a nice life in the meantime weren’t so bad. Auruo insisted that they could go ahead and do that, whatever, but they better not make it about anything other than serving themselves.

But he shrugged.

**_It doesn’t matter what my ranking is. I’m joining the Scouting Legion. They’ll take anyone, no matter how unskilled._ **

He hadn’t really expected Petra to believe this, and true to form she shot him a skeptical look.

            _You are so full of crap._

_**What the ~~fuck~~??? **_

**** _That is complete garbage and you know it! I’ve seen the way you train. Just can’t wait to get your swords. Can’t wait to scale the wall. Run the course. Chomping at the bit to prove you’re strong._

They were due to start training with swords after the first Interim, which was in a couple days. After months of practicing low level pot-shot maneuvers in their 3DMG, they would finally take to the makeshift wall and cliff faces that surrounded the camp grounds, learning how to actually move as a soldier. He yanked the notebook back, scribbling an irritated reply.

            **_I’ll need to be strong. And so will you. It doesn’t matter what rank I am._**

 **** _YOU ARE SO FULL OF CRAP. _

She underlined the reply three times for emphasis, and for a moment would not let him have the notebook back. They squabbled as quietly and unobtrusively as they could, so as not to attract the attention of Instructor Hall. He tried to ignore the jolt that shot through his arm when Petra shoved his hand away, her fingers brushing his wrist. Finally he managed to catch the corner and drag it to his side of the desk.

            **_Geez, will you calm ~~the fuck~~ down?? Yeah, fine. I care about the ranks. _**

**** _Why do you pretend you don’t?_

He forced himself to keep a straight face, because she was entirely too good at reading his mind.

            **_It’s not important._**

She was not impressed with this answer.

_Why do you always do this?_

_**I don’t!!**_

**** _You do and we both know it._

He snatched the notebook back, successfully goaded and irritated about it.

            **_Come on. Who wants to listen to an idiot rant and rave about this ~~shit~~ stuff?? _**

**** _You sure got the idiot part right._

**_Well, geez. Why do I even talk to you?_ **

_Because I’m the only person who knows how to put up with your crap._

**_Martin does that pretty well too, you know. And he doesn’t call me an idiot every ~~fucking~~ day._ **

_Does he?? My goodness. I hope you two are very happy together._

He noticed her grumpy expression and an odd feeling curled in his stomach, one that was not altogether unpleasant.

**_Are you jealous?!_ **

**** _No._

**_You are!! You should see your face!!!_ **

_I’m not jealous!! What’s to be jealous of, anyway?_

_**You’re mad because you’re not the only long-suffering all-patient friend in my life anymore. You have been joined. NAY, SURPASSED.**_

She flushed, to his delight.

            _Surpassed, huh? Good. Better him that me._

**_You’re actually mad! This is the best day of my life._ **

_If this day is the best day of your life, then your life is pathetic._

_**OUCH! Why not just stab me in the heart with your pencil, huh? Might liven up this boring class a bit.**_

_Then I won’t give you the satisfaction._

He kept himself from laughing aloud only through great force of effort. He loved this – loved when she’d trade barbs with him, loved when her irritated expression would crumble and a smile would replace it.

**_I don’t think this needs to be said, but in case it does -- you haven’t really been surpassed._ **

**** _You don’t have to do me any favors, Auruo._

_**I’m not! I mean it. Your patience is legend. Your ability to put up with my crap the stuff of myth. I am perpetually in awe.**_

**** _You’re teasing me._

_**I wouldn’t dare.**_

But he snorted, and the effect was ruined. Instructor Hall looked up from her diagrams at the pair of them, and they froze. He pretended to scribble furious notes and Petra stared at her intently; both the very picture of attentive, dutiful students. When Hall turned back to the blackboard, she shoved him.

_We’ll be caught if you can’t keep from snickering like a dope._

_**Stop being so funny and maybe I will!**_

She bit her lip – against laughter?

_By the way, you called yourself an idiot. I just agreed with you._

She drew an arrow up the page to illustrate her point. He shrugged.

            **_Irrelevant details._**

_They’re only irrelevant because they don’t serve you!_

_**Exactly! Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re not a genius, got it? It’s all slander and lies.**_

She rolled her eyes.

 _ANYWAYS_ _. Before you distracted me I was saying that the ranks DO matter. The strongest are the top ten._

_**I know that.**_

**** _So pay attention in class. Otherwise your strategy scores will be garbage and you won’t be strong._

_**Look at you -- nagging when you’re not paying attention either. Lead by example, Petra Ral! Or I’ll do like you do, and not like you say.**_

_Are you really so easily led astray?_

_When it comes to you, I am,_ he thought.

**_Probably!_ **

She tried valiantly to keep her mask of stern disapproval in place, but her lips twitched against a grin and he knew he’d won her over.

            _You’re horrible._

            **_I sure hope that isn’t a surprise to you._**

 **** _IT’S NOT. _

He would have replied but Instructor Hall chose that moment to begin lecture on a new topic – notable masters of the 3DMG – and Petra resumed her note-taking with one last smile in his direction. He sighed, settled his head on crossed arms, and struggled to pay attention. But it was as if their instructor’s voice slipped through his ears before he could grasp what she was talking about.

He was too easily distracted.

By Martin sweeping aside pencil shavings at regular intervals, by Axel snoring softly behind him, Oskar bouncing his leg, by Wil drumming her fingers on the desk. In front of him, Johanna drew angular shapes in her notebook (jutting towers, birds with blade-like wings). Lukas elbowed Fritz with a smirk and folded a piece of paper into squares, flicking it across the room, where it struck Kirsten in the neck. She flinched, and Gretchen whipped around to glare at them, her startling eyes flashing. They snickered, and she tossed her golden hair over her shoulder, well aware of the effect it had on them.  Konrad hunched forward, watching Instructor Hall intently; Auruo couldn’t see his hands, but he suspected he played with one of his many hidden knives that had survived the Commandant’s purge.

He was distracted by the snow, by the swirling eddies of it, the drifts accumulating against the walls outside, the howling wind whistling through the rafters. It was one of the worst winters he could remember; nearly April and yet the snow continued on, melting enough to taunt them with the promise of spring before resurrecting itself with a vengeance.

He was distracted by Petra; by her slim fingers, by the way she wrote, the looping grace of her handwriting spilling across the page, and how it looked next to his own clumsy heavy-handed scrawl. He noticed the way she tucked a strand that had come loose from her braid behind her ear, how she pursed her lips when Instructor Hall said something she found challenging or interesting. Shamefully, he could not keep from looking when she bunched her cardigan tighter around her slim shoulders as another gust of cold air rattled the windows, her fingers brushing the bare skin above the collar of her shirt.  She crossed her legs, her foot lightly brushing his shin, and he nearly fell out of his seat.

 _Pathetic,_ he cursed himself, willing his racing heart to slow. _Fucking ridiculous. Mooning like some moron. Stupid, fucking pathetic, fucking --_

It had been like this for long enough that he should have been used to it. Maybe he was, to some extent. He’d set up enough mental barriers on the subject of Petra that he was more or less able to function normally when she was around – he could talk to her, tease her, laugh at her without thinking about how deeply he adored her (or how much he’d like to kiss her, and everything else along those lines), and it was normal. Kind of. But beneath the affectation he was tangled in knots, a miserable wreck. He was coiled up so tightly that all she had to do was brush his leg to bring him to the brink of heart failure.

She slid the notebook to him again.

            _Sorry for scaring you._

Of course she noticed. Wonderful. He started to write a reply, though his pounding heart made it somewhat difficult.

            **_Nah, don’t be. You know, I’m just concentrating. On the lecture. Like you asked._**

 _Smooth,_ he thought.

\--

Petra watched Auruo scribble in her notes, crossing out a long line of his reply until it was impossible to see what he’d written. She made a study of him, because while he was otherwise occupied she could get away with it. He gently slid the notebook back to her, and she saw that he swallowed hard.

**_Nah, don’t be. Just kind of distracted, I guess._ **

**** _By?_

He frowned, pushing a messy lock of hair out of his eyes.

**_Everything._ **

**** _What’s everything?_

**_For one thing, Instructor Hall has got to be speaking in a language I don’t know, because I can’t understand a ~~fucking~~ word she says. Pretty sure Konrad’s playing with one of his ~~goddamn~~ knives. Axel’s snoring in my ear. Lukas keeps bugging Kirsten and looking back because he wants Axel to notice him being a ~~jackass.~~ Gretchen keeps whipping her head around because she thinks it’s doing us all a big ~~fucking~~ favor. There’s too much going on, and I have to just ignore it all and focus on an instructor I can’t understand, while she lectures herself hoarse about stuff I don’t care about. _ **

An odd, cold feeling gripped Petra. She looked up at Gretchen, who was indeed tossing her lovely golden hair over her shoulder at that moment, her ankles crossed gracefully, pen dangling from negligent fingers. She was the very picture of careless beauty, and Petra realized it deeply annoyed her that Auruo noticed this.

_Is she doing you some big favor?_

_**Who, Gretchen?**_

His expression turned incredulous when she nodded.

            **_Can you read? I just said it was distracting._**

 **** _You can be distracted by things you like, you know._

For some reason, this embarrassed him; a faint blush rose in his cheeks.

            **_Well I don’t like it. I think she looks pretty stupid, if I’m being honest. Like a horse._**

 **** _A horse??_

_**Yeah, you know. Like how they toss their heads when flies bother them or their manes get in their faces. It looks ridiculous.**_

_I’ve done this before._

_**You have?**_

She would never admit this, but it bothered her that he didn’t notice.

            _I think everyone does it._

_**You see me tossing my head like a f ~~ucking~~ ponce? **_

_You must have._

_**ANYWAYS. Maybe she’s not doing it on purpose and I’m being an asshole. But it annoys me, just like everything annoys me today, I guess.**_

She frowned, hurt and trying not to show it.

_Am I annoying you?_

He shook his head vehemently.

            **_Everything annoys me except for you._**

_Really?? I’m not nagging you to death or anything?_

_**It’s to the point where I worry when you’re not nagging.**_  

She watched his blush deepen, the tips of his ears turning red, and had to resist the sudden, visceral urge to hold his hand. She wouldn’t, of course. She couldn’t. Months later, she was still not convinced of Wil’s position – that he was in love with her, that he adored her, that he wanted her. It was ridiculous, wishful thinking; something that she both wanted and desperately feared. She knew him well enough to know that he reacted this way because he was awkward and uncomfortable with admitting anything he felt, even the most platonic things, so she wouldn’t read into it.

            _That’ll never happen. Not until you prove you can survive without helpful reminders._

_**Oh, is that what we’re calling your nagging now? Helpful reminders! What a nice way of putting it.**_

**** _You’re terrible._

_**So you like to say.**_

They lapsed into attentiveness when Instructor Hall glanced toward them again, though this time she was the one feverishly scribbling in her notebook. Auruo put his head in his arms again and watched the snow fall outside the window.

All in all, they were nearly experts at surreptitiously talking to each other during lecture; nearly a year had passed since their training had started and they hadn’t been caught once. She sat to his left because he was left handed and she was right, so they could merely nudge her notebook back and forth without being overly obvious. And she wasn’t a totally irresponsible student – she gathered what she could and compared notes with Martin in the evenings – but Auruo was a distraction she could not seem to resist. And after some reflection, she realized that they spent their lectures talking through notebooks because this was the only way they could talk privately, without Axel jabbing him in the ribs or Wil whispering in her ear, listening to every word they said. It was the only way they could be alone, just like before.

Not that she resented their friends. She loved them, and she knew Auruo did too – in his own, grudging way.

Auruo sighed, stretching lower. One hand dangled off the end of their desk, twitching idly as he watched the snowfall slowly come to a stop. He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, and she found herself staring at his bare forearm, counting the large freckles there.

 _Stop being weird, weirdo,_ she coached herself, scribbling him a quick note to distract herself.

            _Are you looking forward to first Interim?_

She expected a snarky answer, but he surprised her with an earnest grin.

            **_Well, I mean, I’m looking forward to starting the real stuff after Interim. But yeah. It’ll be nice to see my family. Benoit’s been flipping his shit in his letters, can’t shut up about it._**

_That’s really sweet._

_**Don’t you ~~fucking~~ start.**_

She bit her lip to keep from laughing.

 **** _Is he still mad at Christophe for tattling on him?_

_**For climbing, yeah. I don’t really blame him. Mom probably chewed his ear off for a whole week. She’s probably still chewing his ear off. If you listen really hard, you can hear the lecture from here.**_

**** _I think I’m on your mom’s side this time. He could really get hurt climbing around like that. And she just had a baby – they could try not being so stressful and inconsiderate._

_**Why am I not surprised that you’re on her side?**_

**** _She’s a good person, and the most patient, long-suffering woman alive. Especially considering she has all you horrible boys to deal with. You should give her more credit._

_**Should we now??**_

**** _Yes. In fact, we should all aspire to be more like your mom._

_**All right, I get the picture.**_

_Good._

_**She’s going to love having you back. I’m pretty sure she likes you more than me.**_

**** _You know that isn’t true._

_**Do I?? Benoit told me that I shouldn’t bother coming back at all if you don’t visit every day. Even my own ~~goddamn~~ brothers like you more. **_

**** _I think he was joking, Auruo._

_**Benoit doesn’t joke about anything. He’s the most serious kid alive.**_

_Regardless, I’m pretty sure he was joking about this. He adores you._

To her delight, Auruo shrugged, embarrassed.

            **_Yeah, well. All right. I mean, I don’t blame them. You are more likable._**

            _You said it, not me._

_**I bet you anything he remembers the first time you came around. That’s why he’s so attached. You were the only one who could get him to stop crying. You and your hair.**_

She smiled at the memory.

            _He was such a cute baby. All your brothers were cute babies. I bet the new baby is cute too._

**_You would think babies are cute._ **

_They are! Those little hands and feet. Cute little faces._

_**They kind of freak me out.**_

            _Why????_

_**I don’t know!!!!**_

**** _Are you saying that you’re not at all excited to meet your new brother?_

_**No, I am. I guess. I will be if he doesn’t cry and throw up on me the whole time.**_

**** _Don’t even pretend that you won’t adore him._

_**Geez. Why ask if you know the answer?**_

**** _Because getting you to admit you’re a giant sap who loves his family is one of my favorite things to do._

_**THIS CONVERSATION IS OVER.**_

With that, he faced forward and refused to look at her, even when she nudged his arm with the corner of the notebook. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing, for his face had turned a furious red, and the effect was both ridiculous and charming.

            _Auruo._

_Hey, come on. I’m just teasing._

_Auruoooooooooo._

_So now you can pay attention to the lecture._

_You are such a baby, you know that?_

He refused to accept any of these messages, so she decided to try a different approach. Below their conversation, she drew a little picture of him with the grumpiest expression she could manage, complete with messy hair, furrowed brows, and arms crossed tightly over his chest. She doodled a little squiggly storm cloud over his head, and added the caption ‘ _I’m Cool, NOT Sweet!’_ He would either hate it and refuse to speak to her for the rest of the day, or it would make him laugh. There was never any middle ground with Auruo.

She insistently poked his arm with the notebook until he scowled at her, then scowled down at the page. His brows furrowed even lower as he studied the drawing. She nodded encouragingly and whispered, “ _It’s you!”_

 

She waited. Met his scowl head on. The longer his silence went, the more she feared that she had really upset him, that she’d made a joke she had no right to. She had resigned herself to a day of irritated, grouchy Auruo when she saw his lips twitch. He tried to fight it, but before he could stop himself he’d snorted with laughter, ducking his head to hide how amused he was, and she found him so completely, utterly charming that it made her dizzy.

            **_You think you’re funny huh, Petra Ral._**

 **** _I know I am._

He didn’t respond to this; instead, she watched him sketch a companion to her drawing. He was no artist, that was for sure – the best he could manage was a stick figure with its hands on hips, a similarly grumpy expression on its face. She realized he was drawing her when he added her braid (or what she assumed was her braid, as it looked more like a misshapen rope attached to her head than any braid she’d ever seen). He finished the sketch with a weird little crown on her head, jotted some quick speech bubbles and a caption, and slid the notebook back to her with a very satisfied grin.

She eyed the caption. “ _La Reine des Chipies?”_

“Shh!”

Right, they were still in class. She eyed the speech bubbles; her avatar proclaimed ‘ _Pay attention in class!’ ‘Don’t swear so much!’ ‘Sit up straight!’ ‘Be nice to your mother!’_ and she might have gotten irritated with the drawing if she hadn’t said those very things in this very conversation.

            _Ha ha._

_**Get it? That’s you.**_

**** _Yeah, I got it._

_**Queen of the Nags.**_

**** _What an incredible honor._

_**Right??**_

**** _I’m delighted that you consider me first of the nags in your life._

For some inexplicable reason, this embarrassed him. He shrugged and ducked his head again, this time to try and conceal his blush, and she wondered why this would fluster him so badly. He’d been the one to call her queen of the nags; he’d written it out and even translated, which was something he rarely ever did when speaking French. (She still had no idea what her favorite song meant, or even what it was about). Wil’s theory came back to her in that moment, and she wondered; was this more than Auruo’s old affliction? Was it instead some indication that he adored her just as deeply as she did him? It couldn’t be … but still, she wondered.

She didn’t have a chance to process this, or even to respond; at that moment Instructor Hall set down her notes and said the single most wonderful configuration of words at that moment: “We’ll break now for lunch. And I believe after, the Commandant will want to resume your sprint trials.”

Half the class groaned, mutters of ‘ _In the snow?!’_ filling the room, but Auruo broke into one of his earnest grins, so rarely seen. “Thank god,” he muttered, throwing his cloak around his shoulders.

“You want to run in the snow?” Martin asked him as he stowed his copious notes, his expression incredulous.

“Sure, why not?” Auruo said. “Anything’s better than sitting around all day.”

Axel clapped him on the shoulder, and nearly sent him sprawling. “You said it,” he said with a grin.

Their group filed out of the classroom and into the snow, and she watched as Auruo and Martin conferred, the former gesturing expansively as he spoke.

Petra didn’t know if she agreed with what Auruo had said. She probably should have. She would if her mind was in the right place. She was fast and skilled, and she often excelled at the physical aspects of their training, so an afternoon of sprint trials and other physical activity wouldn’t be much of a hardship. But she hadn’t found this lecture to be so awful, cooped up in a warm classroom, sitting next to someone she could not seem to help adoring, speaking to him through notebooks. And she completely despised this about herself, despised that all it took to unsettle her was a throwaway comment that probably had nothing to do with her, but she couldn’t help it – the fact that he seemed to find their morning so intolerable hurt her deeply.

Wil slipped her arm through Petra’s just as Axel shoved a handful of snow down the back of Auruo’s shirt. And she laughed along with everyone, but her heart wasn’t in it. As Auruo flailed, shouting curses as loud as he could, she realized that Wil couldn’t have been more wrong.

 ~

That night, the six of them sat in their corner of the common room, nursing wind-chapped cheeks and frozen extremities. The Commandant had indeed worked them the whole afternoon, driving them through the forested grounds outside the enclosure, through drifts that were as high as their knees in some places. Auruo was exhausted, but it was the good kind – the kind that involved a heavy feeling in his limbs and promised a night of good sleep ahead.

Martin was in far worse shape; he huddled into a tight ball, trying to work warmth and feeling back into his fingers. “I’ll never be able to play again,” he moaned, rubbing his hands together and wistfully eying his violin case.

“Give it time,” Axel told him. “You did all right today.”

That was putting it nicely, and everyone knew it – Martin had lagged behind the pack and earned nearly an hour’s worth of verbal abuse from the Commandant.

Martin bit his lip. “It’s been an hour and I still can’t feel my hands.”

Axel pondered this for half a second before Oskar leaned close to whisper in his ear. Auruo was used to these exchanges by now; Oskar had not once said a word in front of them, but according to Axel he was incredibly articulate. Auruo didn’t know about that, but it was true that Oskar could usually make his position on a matter known through a few well-chosen quirks of his expression.

Axel grin was brilliant and obnoxious all at once; he clapped Oskar hard on the back and with that Oskar broke away, pushing out into the freezing darkness. “Give him a moment,” Axel said easily. “He’ll find you something.”

“You didn’t ask him to steal again,” Martin said, frowning.

“It’s not stealing if it already technically belongs to us.”

“It doesn’t _technically_ belong to us, it belongs to the Commandant, and he _gives_ it to us,” Auruo cut in.

Axel waved his hand, unconcerned. “Details.”

Wil shook her head. “One of these days he’s going to be caught, and I’m going to laugh at you both. In fact, I think I’m just going to distance myself from this whole thing, so when it blows up in your face I’m nowhere close to being involved.”

“You are a true friend, Wilhelmina. And _in fact,”_ he said, mocking her tone, “we’ll see how that position holds up when you see what my dear Oskar brings back.”

“Hmph.” Wil tugged on the end of Petra’s braid, and the two of them went to sit next to the stove furnace, wedging in between Fritz and Lukas, who seemed more than thrilled with this development. Lukas inched so close to Petra that she’d practically flattened herself against Wil to keep from touching him, and Auruo scowled.

“Ah, cool off, Boss,” Axel said, noticing his expression. “She’ll knock him out if he tries anything.”

“Whatever,” he shrugged, trying to hide how irritated he was that Axel had read his mind. “You know that dumbshit’s just trying to get your attention, anyway.”

“Lukas? Aw.” Axel waved this away too, as he was discussing a concept and not a person. “He’s not really my type. Maybe if he was a little more like you.”

Auruo wasn’t impressed by this – after a year of Axel’s indiscriminate flirting, he’d gotten pretty used to the whole song and dance. “I’m sure.”

Oskar returned not long after; cheeks windburnt, his long dark hair tousled by the wind, with a suspect bundle cradled under his coat. He turned his back on the rest of the room, and with a scary grin revealed the spoils of his crime; a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a steaming mug of –it couldn’t be –

“ _Hot chocolate?!”_ Martin wheezed.

Oskar only put his fingers to his lips, his grin widening. How he’d managed to come by _real hot chocolate_ and not spill a drop was anyone’s guess.

“Easy, there,” Axel said, drawing close. “Nice and quiet. That ought to warm you up, don’t you think?”

Martin nodded dumbly and took the offered mug with shaking hands. Auruo didn’t blame him – he’d had hot chocolate only once in his life, and it was something he wouldn’t forget.

There was a scuffle behind him, and the next thing he knew Wil had crammed herself into their semi-circle, dragging a reluctant Petra behind her. “Make room,” Wil said. “Let’s see what we’re accessory to this time. Come on, Auruo – move your bony ass.”

He would have retorted had Wil not wedged Petra next to him at that moment, and the retort died in his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so close to her, close enough to touch – probably when they were still kids, and he wasn’t cursed with intrusive thoughts about her naked body against his.  He tried not to flinch or move or breathe, and could only manage a weak grin when she shot him an apologetic look.

“Oskar, you didn’t,” Wil breathed.

“ _Hot chocolate!?”_ Petra gasped.

“You guys need to put a lid on it,” Axel said with a nervous look over his shoulder. “Just drink it quick before one of these nosy assholes bust us.”

“I can’t drink it all,” Martin said. “It’s not right.”

“Are you seriously full from dinner? You should have said something! I wouldn’t have had Oskar get you some –“

“No, no,” Martin said, his trembling hands wrapped around the hot mug. “It just wouldn’t be right. You all should have some too.”

If ever there was a moment indicative of Martin’s character, this was it – holding a delicacy between his frozen hands, and his only thought was to share with his friends. “Ah, geez,” Auruo said, uncomfortable with the gesture. “I mean, it’s your fuckin’ hot chocolate.”

“ _Will you keep it down?!”_ Axel hissed. “But yeah, Boss is right.”

“Either you all have some, or I’ll have none,” Martin said, a stubborn little wrinkle forming between his brows.

“Fine, fine,” Axel said, but he grinned fondly. “You lunatic.”

Satisfied, Martin took a tiny sip, pressing his lips together as he savored the taste before passing the mug to Oskar. And so it went for all of them – taking sips of the hot chocolate until the mug was empty. Wil actually made a strangled noise of pleasure when she swallowed, her fingers flying to her lips. At Axel’s amused look, she sputtered, “I’ve never had it before!”

“Right, right.”

“I’m serious! It’s so _sweet!”_

“Well, there is that. Though I’m sure you’d go for salty too.”

Wil’s eyes flashed. “I’d go for anything,” she snapped, shoving the mug into Auruo’s hands. And there wasn’t really any question what they were talking about.

Auruo stared at them, repulsed. “You guys are fuckin’ disgusting.”

“Goddammit Boss, drink the hot chocolate or we’re skipping you.”

“Yeah, _Boss,”_ Wil added. “Get on with it.”

“There better not be any backwash in this,” Auruo muttered.

“ _BOSS!”_

“Fine, fine. Keep your fuckin’ hair on.”

He wasn’t really sure he wanted to share a mug of anything with these degenerates, but then again hot chocolate was something only rich people got to enjoy on a regular basis, and who knew when he’d have the chance for it again. He took the smallest sip possible, and tried not to react outwardly in any way when the incredible flavor burst across his tongue. Had he been alone, he’d have probably guzzled the whole thing in two seconds; as it was, he was pressed shoulder to shoulder with his favorite person on the planet, and the thought of short-changing her upset him.

He passed Petra the mug, careful not to touch her hands (because he knew that if he did he’d probably jump and spill the rest of the goddamn hot chocolate all over her arms, which would probably end up burning her, and he’d never forgive himself).

And he tried not to stare. He really did. He knew it was creepy and weird, and he was so ridiculously awkward that even he had trouble dealing with it, but he watched as she drank. Watched her lips, her closed eyes, watched her swallow, watched as a faint rush of color flooded her cheeks, and he remembered the last time they had done this –sitting on his front stoop, passing a steaming mug back and forth until it was empty. And he thought it now as he had then; she was so unbearably beautiful.

He nearly fell over when she looked up at him first, with a smile like sunlight. “It’s just like --!”

“I was just thinking that!” he said, relieved.

“Just like …?” Axel prompted.

Petra shrugged a little, her shoulders brushing against his. “Ah, never mind.”

And he couldn’t exactly articulate why her reply made him so happy. Maybe because she was beautiful, or because she was touching him in the only way she ever would (and he was grateful, he’d keep being grateful his whole lousy life). Maybe because that memory would stay between them – that though it was a small thing, one of many they had, she shared the impulse to keep them close.

They passed the mug around again until not even the dregs remained, and split the bread and cheese amongst themselves, talking until curfew. And as he watched Petra laugh, as he watched Wil twist her hair into a knot at the back of her neck, Auruo felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with the hot chocolate.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read, kudo'd, and left me a comment! sorry for such a delay on this chapter; had some real life stuff going on, but I think now regular updates can resume! Thanks again, everyone.

On the first day of Interim, the sun finally broke through heavy clouds, melting the endless piles of snow. This proved to be problematic for trainees from more remote villages, as the carts couldn’t traverse the unpaved roads obstructed by long stretches of mud. But for Auruo and Petra, who lived in one of the eight remaining districts connected by the main road, the journey was easy and surprisingly enjoyable, and at times warm enough that they could take off their coats and enjoy the favorable weather.

As the cart rode on, Petra closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sun. A warm breeze toyed with the loose hair at the side of her face, and she wore a small, content smile. She’d undone the first two buttons of her blouse, and Auruo stole covert glances of the pale skin she’d revealed, swallowing when she brushed her fingers just below her throat.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked her, desperate to distract himself before she caught him looking.

“Are you kidding? It’s gorgeous out,” she said as she tossed her braid over her shoulder. “I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t bundled up in a coat, trying not to freeze to death.”

“Sometime early autumn, probably.”

She opened one eye, brow arched. “Cute.”

“Sure am.” He adopted a smug grin, playing it off as a joke. He’d been doing a lot of that lately, to the point where everything that came out of his mouth was draped in varying layers of sarcasm or deflection, so that no one would look at him too closely. It was probably moot with Petra, who seemed to understand him regardless of what he did. Before that had been a gift; lately, he waited for the day when it would betray him.

Soon her façade of relaxation gave way to the Petra he knew, the girl who couldn’t bite back her enthusiasm for anything and everything she cared about. She sat upright, pressing her hands to her face to hide a charming smile. And yeah – he was charmed; charmed by anything she did, really, but by that smile especially. “What’re you buzzing about now?” he asked.

“I’m excited!” she told him. “I feel like I could get there faster if I ran.”

“You probably could,” Auruo agreed – the cart was currently bouncing along at an easy pace, the better to avoid holes and stretches of mud plaguing the main road.

“Aren’t you excited?”

Auruo shrugged. He was, but he didn’t want to say so. “Eh.”

“Don’t pretend you aren’t.”

“I’m not pretending!”

She rolled her eyes but let it go, to his relief. “It just feels like it’s been so much longer than a year. Feels like I haven’t seen my dad in at least ten.”

“He probably feels the same way,” Auruo said. He studied her – bright eyes, eager hands, and that smile he loved. “Are you gonna cry?”

“Probably,” she said without a hint of embarrassment. “Are you going to get flustered and uncomfortable when I do?”

“Probably,” he muttered. He’d never gotten used to it, and frankly he didn’t think he ever would. Petra cried easily – not necessarily often, but she possessed incredible depth of feeling and lacked the shame that might inspire her to bury her feelings deep. And though it often made him uncomfortable, made his tongue seem thick and his brain slow and useless, he wouldn’t trade it for anything. He’d rather nothing upset her, but the fact that she wore her heart on her sleeve was encouraging, endearing. Another entry in the list of everything he liked about her, a list longer than he was tall.

Petra looked down at her hands. “He’s been alone this whole year,” she said quietly. “So when he’s not at work, we’ll catch up.”

“Well …”

“What?”

“It’s good that you’ll do that, but – I mean, he hasn’t been alone.”

She gaped at him. “What?”

“Geez, I can’t believe I didn’t mention this. My mom’s been going over every Sunday. With food and stuff. Helps him around the house. Chats about nonsense. You know.”

Petra bit her lip. “Really?” 

"Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess she was fuckin’ moved by his plight, or something like that. Took him under her wing. You know how she is.”

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

“Why are you crying now?!” he blurted, appalled.

She hastily wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m not! Your mom is the best person I know, is all.”

“Maybe tell her that. Then you can cry on each other.”

“I’m serious! She just – I mean, she’s so busy and she’s got all you boys to take care of, and your dad too, but she still carves out some time for _my_ dad, just because he’s all alone in an empty house, with no kids or wife or any friends, really. It’s just – you’re lucky you have her.”

“Geez,” Auruo muttered. “You have her too, you know. That’s probably why she does this.”

And he’d never forget this – somehow he’d stumbled into saying exactly the right thing, which happened infrequently enough that he’d learned to savor these moments. But she looked up at him with a smile so bright it hurt to look at, and for a second his breath stilled in his chest. “Oh, Auruo,” she said, and he thought that he loved his name best when she spoke it.

“What?!”

“Nothing, nothing,” she said, waving him off, her cheeks coloring slightly. “Never mind.”

He watched her cover her smile with her hands again, and a wave of tenderness rose in his throat, so large that he could not swallow it. He knew that her own mother had died when she was eight, so he thought it was all right that he shared his, considering he suspected his mother had always wanted a daughter anyway. He’d share everything with Petra, if he had half the chance; he’d give her everything he possessed if it meant she’d smile like this.

The main road ran through long stretches of farmland, where Auruo watched frustrated farmers struggling to till the fields. He thought of Martin, then; how his Interim would be spent helping his father work their stubborn plot of land, praying for a temperate summer and a good harvest. Petra noticed his frown. “What is it?”

“It’s … well,” he trailed off, squinting to better see the farmers. “It’s just that Martin was talking about how they’ll be laying down the crop late this year, since it took so long for winter to break. You know, for the ground to thaw. He was worried about it.”

She hummed sympathetically, her brows furrowing. In this light, her amber eyes were nearly luminescent, startling and hypnotic, framed by a loose cascade of bright auburn hair.  He looked away forcefully before she could catch him staring, but his heart gave a weak lurch at the thought, the fresh memory already burned beneath his eyelids.

They arrived at Karanese in the late evening, just before sundown. And he was grateful, then, because Petra seemed to have forgotten what had happened in the excitement of being back home. He wouldn’t forget, but he understood; Karanese was mostly unchanged, and there was something so comforting about it. The merchants were packing up their stalls and factory workers filled the streets, intent on their homes; his father was likely among them, exhausted but smiling, perhaps, just like every day.

They’d passed into their neighborhood when Petra slowed, a wrinkle forming between her furrowed brows. “What is it?” he asked her.

She pursed her lips, hesitating. “Is it weird that I’m nervous?”

“What do you got to be nervous about?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “Just … it’s been a long time. You can’t leave for a long time and then come back and expect everything to be the same.”

“What’s gonna be that different, though? Your dad probably won’t want you out of his sight.”

“Yeah. And that’s different,” she said. “I don’t know. Just nervous for no good reason, I suppose.”

“Well, don’t be.” He tried to grin for her benefit. “It’ll be all right.”

She smiled and he wondered if it was for his benefit too. “All right.” And more than anything, at that moment he wanted to grab her hand and hold it tightly, to reassure her as she had reassured him so many times, most of them on this very street. But they rounded the corner and the moment passed.

There was a shout from down the street. Cries of “ _AURUOO_!” filled the air, and he didn’t even have time to think that they’d disturb the neighbors with their racket because in that second his brothers had crashed into his legs, clamoring and giggling and shouting (and in Etienne’s case, crying because he’d been left behind).

“G-geez,” Auruo said, stumbling as they swarmed around him, but he couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed because Benoit was yanking on his arm and Christophe was pulling on his coat and Didier was trying gamely to get Etienne to stop crying, and he’d missed them all so much.

“Auruo, I got a letter today!”

“Auruo, Benoit was shoving me!”

“N-no f-fair!” Etienne wailed.

“Hey, hey, come on. Calm down, you little jerks. Etienne, come here.”

Sniffling, Etienne clambered into Auruo’s arms, burying his little face in Auruo’s chest.

Benoit was appalled. “That’s not fair!”

“Not fair!” Christophe echoed.

“You brats left him behind, that’s what you get,” Auruo said. And it was so familiar; home for less than a minute and already lapsing into his place as the eldest. “I only got two arms. Let’s all just take turns and calm down, all right?

Sullen replies. Benoit kicked at the ground with worn shoes. “All right,” he muttered, lip trembling down.

“Geez, you brats aren’t even going to say hello to Petra? She’s standing right there,” Auruo added, shooting her a grin– she’d watched the whole scene and her eyes were suspiciously bright, so he thought he’d head off the waterworks as best he could.

He expected his brothers to swarm her like they had for him, but to his surprise they stood there and stared, wide-eyed, when she dropped to her knees and gave them a sweet smile. “I missed you all!” she said, but this did not move them. Her smile faded.

“They’re shy,” Auruo said in a theatrical whisper.

“I’m not!” Christophe yelled, defiantly throwing himself into Petra’s arms.

Somehow he and Petra managed to corral his brothers out of the street and back to his home, and together they formed an odd procession; Etienne clinging to Auruo’s neck, Didier trailing anxiously behind, Christophe carrying Petra’s satchel, and Benoit stubbornly holding his free hand. When his mother caught sight of them all from her place on their stoop, she burst into laughter and tears. 

“Look at you,” she cried, and she threw her arms around him – Etienne and knapsack and all.

“ _Mom,_ ” he muttered when she peppered his face with kisses.

But she was not deterred; if anything, his reticence seemed to encourage her, perhaps because it was just the same as it had always been. She caught his face between her hands, turning it back and forth to get a closer look at him, and he couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed by the attention.

“You’ve gotten so tall,” she said, her smile widening. “I’ll bet you’re taller than your father, now.”

He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I doubt it.”

She didn’t respond to this; instead she broke away and pulled Petra into a warm embrace, one Petra wholeheartedly returned. “It’s good to see you too, sweetheart.”

And Petra had been right, partly anyway; she didn’t openly cry but her eyes had become bright. And his own reaction surprised him; not discomfort or dismay, not awkwardness, but an odd sort of tenderness rose up in him. He didn’t know why, and the reason would probably embarrass him if he thought about it too long, but there it was.

“You know you’re welcome anytime this week, right?” his mother asked.

Petra nodded, swiping quickly at her eyes

“You’re not gonna stay?” Christophe asked, tugging on her sleeve.

“Geez, you little brat. She’s gotta get home, see her dad,” Auruo said, smirking. “Don’t be greedy.”

“I’m not a brat,” Christophe retorted sullenly, but he let go.

Auruo decided to keep the fact that he could have thoughtlessly monopolized her time as well to himself; it was wrong and shameful, and probably irrelevant besides. He had no claim on her; nor would he keep her to himself if he ever did. He watched her go with a grin, and told himself he’d see her when she wanted, and that was fine with him.

Before she rounded the corner to her street, she turned back and waved– to his family or to him, he didn’t know. But he watched as that slow, sunlight smile transformed her face, and thought with no small amount of relief that even though he’d seen too much of her today, and tonight he would likely be visited by its memory, there were still some things didn’t change. 

 ~

Unlike their comrades who came from distant provinces and had to contend for travel, Auruo and Petra were able to enjoy the full two weeks of Interim with their families And Petra did, at first; when she first rounded the corner and caught sight of her home, with her father standing outside their door, she cried and ran to him, and they embraced for a long time. The first night, they shared a meal she made and played cards and laughed together, like they’d done so many nights before.

But in the end, he was only able to hold out a few hours before he brought up his favorite subject, their one true bone of contention.

“You doing all right, then?” he asked much later, after she’d won their seventh game.

“I am,” she said, beaming. “I love training. I’m … I’m _good_ at it.”

He smiled too, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good?”

“Yes! Oh my god, let me tell you – that first day, they’d set up these harnesses so they could see how well we’d adapt to balancing in 3DMG, and – and I was a natural! The instructors all said so. And I know it’s not very kind to be proud of something you can’t really control, but the fact that I already knew innately what to do, where to put my weight, it was … it was amazing. I’ve never felt anything like it … just knowing that I was able to do this. And I felt like it was a sign, too; a sign that I’m on the right path. Even Auruo –“

“So you’re still hanging around that boy, then?” her father said, smile faltering.

“Yes, I am,” Petra said. “And he’s not _that boy,_ he’s my friend. And he has a name.”

“Hmph.”

She fixed him with a stern look. “I’d hoped maybe you’d ease up on Auruo, since his mother is kind enough to take time out of her busy life to keep you company.”

“He told you about that, did he?” her father muttered.

“Should he not have?”

A terse sigh. “His mother is a fine woman. That doesn’t change the fact that _he_ is a disrespectful --.”

Petra cut him off before he could finish; she did not want an argument on her first night home, and if he finished that thought there would be an argument. “Like I was saying, even Auruo couldn’t get it right away. He’s the one that needed _my_ help.”

She could not exactly swallow the trace of bitter hurt that weighed her words. Her father heard it too, but rather than let the subject drop he leaned over the table and gently laid his large hand over hers. “I was hoping we could talk.”

“Talk about what?” she asked him, suddenly wary.

He hesitated, his fingers tightening around hers. And she know it was traitorous and repugnant to think something so horrible of her own father, whom she’d missed every day she was away and had been so happy to see, but it suddenly seemed to her as if his hands were not meant to comfort or appease, but to instead restrain.

“I … I wanted to talk to you about training,” he said. “About –“

She pulled her hand away and abruptly got to her feet, smoothing her skirt. “I’m – I’m so tired, Dad. Could we talk about this later, please?”

_Could we maybe never talk about it?_

He swallowed, and for a moment she thought he’d press the issue, but he smiled and the moment passed. “Sure, sunshine. Sleep well.”

She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t call me that.”

Without another word, she slipped into her room and pulled the door shut, so softly it hardly made a sound. She undressed and shrugged into her nightshirt, and tried desperately to swallow the growing thickness in the back of her throat. She’d cried enough for one day, and anyway, there wasn’t anything to cry about. She was being stupid. As usual.

_Did you think he’d suddenly be proud because you’re happy? Because you’re good at it?_

But despite common sense, she really did hope that was the end of it – that he’d understand her training was important to her, and that she needed to take these decisive steps toward the only thing she’d ever want to do with her life. She hoped that if he couldn’t be proud of her, then he’d at least try to understand. But each day after dinner, he would take her hand in the same way, the same constraining manner, and prepare to appeal to her.

And every night, she escaped before he could say the words, because she know if she heard them, it would confirm something she’d feared for a long time, something she wanted more than anything to be untrue.

While her father worked, she spent her mornings wandering, talking to people she’d never spoken to before and exploring the new businesses and salons. She told herself she wandered alone because the quiet pleased her, and it was nice to spend a few hours without speaking to anyone, keeping only her own thoughts as company.

If she had cared to be honest with herself, she’d have admitted her solitary wandering was because she once again felt shy around Auruo and his family. Putting aside her inconvenient infatuation, she felt a lot like she had when she was eleven, pacing around his neighborhood unable to summon the nerve to visit, because she suspected she’d quickly wear out her welcome. She had no desire to impose on them, especially considering how vulnerable she felt these days, with her father spoiling for his heartbreaking lecture.

But when she finally mustered the courage to visit, Mrs. Bossard always welcomed her with open arms (even if those arms were full of a basket of laundry or squirming child). Auruo’s brothers would swarm around her legs and vie for her attention, and Auruo – he would grin then duck his head to hide the flush. And it was so familiar – such an unimaginable comfort, that at least this should remain the same.

~ 

The last afternoon of Interim, Petra sat in the Bossard kitchen with the new baby in her arms while Mrs. Bossard cleaned. Francois was surprisingly agreeable, just like Didier had been – he rarely ever cried or made any sound at all. He seemed to already prefer to watch the world with wide eyes, and in doing so she couldn’t help but to notice that those eyes were the same color as Auruo’s.

“Have I thanked you yet for helping out so much these last two weeks?” Mrs. Bossard asked, scrubbing the counters.

“You’ve thanked me every day.”

“Well, I’ll thank you again. I tell you, it’s an undertaking to keep this house straight and those boys occupied.”

“I’m happy to help,” Petra said, rocking the baby. “Though I think Auruo’s better at the latter.”

And he was; at this moment, he was racing up and down the street with Christophe on his back, his training jacket wrapped around the boy’s shoulders like a cape. “Faster!” she heard Christophe screech, soon met by Auruo’s indiscriminate cursing. But Petra knew the bluster was mostly for show – every day he played with his brothers, subjecting himself to their whims with patience he rarely ever showed anywhere else.

And she’d be lying if she said that didn’t strike some deep, tender chord in her.

“Ah, now. Don’t underestimate yourself,” Mrs. Bossard said, tossing the rag into a bowl and taking a heavy seat next to Petra. “It means more than I can say that you’d spend your Interim doing chores instead of resting.”

“Well, Auruo’s not resting either,” she pointed out. “And I don’t think they’re chores if you like doing them.”

“Ha, fair point,” Mrs. Bossard laughed, and she curled up into her chair, pushing a stubborn curl of hair out of her eyes.  

She fell silent, weighing a worry that had nagged her for the last two weeks. She was incredibly anxious to get back to training, and she’d assumed Auruo would be too. They’d talked about it whenever they had a free moment to themselves, yet every time she’d caught a hint of something unsaid in his expression, something worrisome. He deflected her entreaties with hardly a word, and she wondered what it could possibly be that would dull his obsessive desire to become a soldier.

She glanced at Mrs. Bossard, who had fallen asleep. Did his mother nettle him the way her father was dying to nettle her? Was he chafing under the same lack of pride that hurt her so deeply? He refused to talk about it, so it was anyone’s guess.

It was nearly dusk when Auruo and his brothers filed back inside, clamoring loudly. She held up a finger to lips and pointed with her free hand to Mrs. Bossard, who was still fast asleep. Auruo rolled his eyes in a manner that managed to be both irritated and tender, and he quickly crossed the room to kneel at his mother’s side. “Geez,” he muttered, gently touching her shoulder.

“Mm?”

“Mom, wake up. Petra’s gotta go home now.” He looked up at her, grinning. “Her dad’s probably home from work already.”

“Oh, sweetheart, why didn’t you wake me up sooner?”

“It’s fine,’ she said, shooting Auruo a look. “I have some time still.”

She probably didn’t, she thought with a worried glance at the red-gold horizon, but no point in letting Mrs. Bossard know that. Carefully, she passed the baby back into her arms and smoothed her skirt. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

A shadow of that nameless worry crossed Auruo’s features, and she felt an odd curl of trepidation at the sight of it. “Right,” he managed, quickly replacing his frown with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll – yeah. Night, Petra.”

She made her way through the cramped streets of their neighborhood to her home, wrestling with untold vague anxieties and the desire to sneak back to Auruo’s in the middle of the night, so the two of them could talk.  It was odd. She’d spent almost every afternoon with his family, playing with his brothers, yet she felt as if she hadn’t really spoken to him in weeks.

To her dismay she saw that her windows were lit, and a shadowed figure paced back and forth from within. She bit back the discouraged sigh, though no one was around to hear it. Her father was home, and he’d be cross that she hadn’t been waiting for him.

Sure enough, when she pushed open the door he instantly materialized in front of her, a worried scowl twisting his features into something that put her on edge. “Where were you?” he asked.

“I was at Auruo’s,” she said, shrugging. “I told you, I’ve been spending the afternoons there.”

“Alone?”

“God, Dad. No. His mom and brothers are always around.” She forced herself not to swallow or move her face at all, so she wouldn’t give her father the impression of guilt – though strangely, she felt guilty anyway. She and Auruo hadn’t done anything, and it wasn’t likely they ever would, but every day she’d spent around him, she’d thought about it. When he rolled up his shirtsleeves to his elbows, she thought about running her hands up the lean muscles of his forearm, cupping his shoulders, sliding to the stark planes of his shoulder blades. Thought about kissing his lips, the corner of his mouth, his nose, kissing that freckle on the back of his neck, kissing whatever she could reach, every inch of his blessed skin. And then he’d catch her looking, and she’d grin or tease him or something, so he wouldn’t see the evidence of her thoughts all over her face.

She forged ahead, stepping cautiously around him and making her way to the kitchen. “I’m sorry I’m late; Mrs. Bossard fell asleep and I was watching the baby. I’ll get started on dinner.”

“Petra.”

She froze. He almost never used her name. Swallowing, she turned to face him. “Yes?”

“Come here.” He gestured to the small table with only two chairs – there’d been three, she remembered, a long time ago. “Please sit down.”

“What is it, Dad?”

“We’re going to have this conversation now,” he said in a voice she hardly recognized, completely devoid of warmth and love, a voice that summoned a chill in her gut. “You’re not going to run away or claim you’re tired to get out of this. I’ve been understanding, but now you’re going to listen to what I have to say, do you understand me?”

With a thrill of foreboding, she obeyed. “Dad …”

“I don’t want you to go back tomorrow.” He said this to his hands, which he’d clasped on the table to mask their trembling. “I want you to leave the military.”

Something sick twisted in her stomach. “You want me to desert.”

“I want you to stay home and do something useful, like help me with the bakery.”

She measured her reply, because if she wasn’t careful she’d give into the tumult of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. “Are you telling me that you don’t think being a soldier is a useful occupation?”

His frown deepened. “It is. But it’s not for you.”

“I’m in a better position to say what’s ‘for me’ than anyone else, including you,” she snapped before she could swallow the words. _Calm down, calm down,_ she coached herself. _Don’t get upset._

“You’re my child,” he shot back. “I’m –“

“I’m not _anybody’s anything,”_ she retorted. “I’m me. I’m my own. I make the decisions for my own life. I’m – I’m sorry you don’t agree with my decision to join the Survey Corps, but you can’t do anything about it. You can’t stop me from living my life as I see fit.”

“I can and will,” he said. “I can –“

“Are you going to hold me hostage?!” she hissed. “Lock me up in my room?”

“Petra!”

“Are you?”

“I’m not going to lose you because of your foolish insistence on playing soldier!”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she was too far gone now – too furious to stop. She lurched to her feet, hands balled into fists at her sides. “ _Playing soldier?_ I _am_ a soldier – I’m not playing at anything!”

“Yes, you are! You’re just a girl – you’re small, and the world is large and dangerous! And you have no idea what’s out there. You think you’re better than all those other stupid, dead children that thought they were different, thought that their grand ideals and principles would keep them safe against the Titans. You throw yourself into training, and you’ll – you’ll die just the same as them!”

She didn’t hear the tears in her father’s voice – only the cruel words he hurled at her. Here it was; his lack of pride, lack of belief, his disregard for her devotion. Here it was, for all to see. In the moment of that realization, what little control she’d wrangled over her emotions dissolved. “I’m sorry I can’t be the sweet, cowardly daughter you clearly think you deserve! A little waif that just stays home, nice and safe, and never does anything dangerous or troublesome! How lovely that would be for you!”

“Don’t talk like that to me, Petra.”

“I’ll talk to you how I see fit! You think you can just sit there and dictate to me how I’ll live my life, and then call me stupid and proud, but I’m not allowed to tell you what I think about all this … this _bullshit!_ Oh no! I have to just sit there and _take it._ Well, I won’t!”

“You will, because I’m your father.”

“You think that means anything to me!?” she shouted. “I’m going back to training! And in two years I’ll be a soldier of the Scouting Legion. I’ll fight to free all of humanity! And you will eat your words!”

Something cold glinted in her father’s eyes. “I want you to stop pretending that this is some grand crusade for you, Petra. If you’re going to throw your life away and leave me alone in this world, I want you to admit that it’s because of – of that _boy.”_

He spat the word, and she flinched back as if he’d slapped her. “ _What?”_

“Admit it to me right here and now! You do everything because of him – because he’s doing it, or because you think he’ll notice you if you do! Even going so far as to echo his stupid, suicidal mission so you don’t have to be apart! It’s pathetic!”

The room suddenly seemed airless, and she couldn't breathe. Tears filled her eyes, blurring the shape of her father until all that remained was a dull smear of color in her sight, once so well-defined and now little better than a stranger. “Goodnight, Dad.”

“Petra --!”

She slipped into her room and shut the door quietly behind her, sliding down the wall and hugging her knees to her chest. She sat in the darkness while her father hammered her door, shouting various unconnected words that she no longer cared for. He ranted and raged and pleaded with her to just let him in and they’d talk about it calmly, that he was so sorry for what he said and he didn’t want her last night home to end this way, but she did not move – she couldn’t face him, not after that. And after a while, he gave up.

She didn’t crawl into bed and bury her face in her pillow, because if she did she knew she would cry until she fell asleep and she wasn’t going to cry. She refused to give him the satisfaction. If she did, it would be as good as confirming everything he’d said. Instead, she waited in the darkness; waited until she heard her father close the door to his room, and waited twice as long until she could hear his soft snoring. And only when she was sure he was deeply asleep did she stand and open her window, slipping outside and running through the shadowed streets faster than she ever had before.

She didn’t consciously decide to see Auruo. It was instinct. She forgot that things were a little strange between them – that he’d flinch away if she got too close, and more often than not their easy conversation would lull when he looked at her, flushing for some inexplicable reason. And sometimes, she would be so overcome by the way she felt that she could hardly speak to him herself. But she didn’t care about any of those things, and she didn’t care what her father thought. She needed to see him. And she wasn’t going to feel ashamed for needing to see her best friend.

His window was open, which didn’t surprise her; the room he shared with his brothers was stuffy and hot all year round except in the dead of winter. For a moment, she thought that he was sleeping, but as she crept closer she heard quiet voices coming from the room. She could see the top of Auruo’s head, tufts of his curly hair turned silver in the moonlight.

“I don’t want to be oldest anymore,” someone wept from under his arm– Benoit, she realized with a pang. “I don’t like it. You’re oldest, okay?”

“Okay, Benny,” Auruo said, his voice thick. “Okay.”

Neither of them spoke again. And she wished more than anything that she could comfort him too, because she may not have known his specific pain, but she ached for him, and for Auruo – for the tightness in his voice, for the nameless worry he’d carried their whole Interim without speaking a word of it, preferring instead to shoulder his burden without interference. And she felt very alone, then – huddled below his window, waiting for Benoit to sink into sleep. In that moment, it seemed as if even Auruo was beyond her reach.

The tears she’d fought against for the whole evening finally broke free, and she buried her face in her arms. Though she tried to muffle herself to keep from making an even more pathetic scene, almost immediately she heard a sound above her, and craned up to meet Auruo’s wide, worried gaze.

“Petra? What --?” In the span of an instant, the worry faded and anger took its place. For one wild second, she thought that he was angry at her. But he clambered out of his window and dropped to the street next to her, craning close and speaking in a low, urgent tone. “Are you hurt?! Who hurt you?!”

And she understood; he was angry _for_ her, not at her. She cried harder.

“Petra, I’m getting kinda worried, here!”

“I’m not – I’m – that’s not it,” she managed, taking great shuddering breaths. “It was – it was my dad. He said –“

But she couldn’t finish – she cried so hard that she thought she’d wake up the whole street, and she covered her face with her hands again in a feeble attempt to keep this from happening. She heard Auruo moving above her – closing the window, she realized – and then the next thing she knew he’d settled himself beside her, slinging his arm around her and pulling her close. And the shock of his gesture, at once brusque and gentle, went straight through her heart. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest and cried.

It wasn’t the first time Auruo had ever held her – she’d been throwing herself into his arms without reserve since the time they’d been children, and then it had meant less. But this was the first time he had ever held her like this – so closely that she could hear the wild rhythm of his heartbeat, so closely that she could feel the shallow spaces between his ribs, the shape of him so solid and fascinating under hands. So closely that she molded to him. It was the first time he held her like he never wanted to let her go.

Later, when she’d calmed down enough, she craned up to look at him – expecting the blush and the awkward expression, but what she saw instead was something unfamiliar, something she couldn’t even begin to know how to describe. Somehow, he looked at her like he’d been holding her.

So she spoke before she could reconsider the sentiment. “Can you just … keep doing this?”

“Uh --?”

“I know how you are about touching and I get it, I just …” She trailed off, blushing. “It’s just that this is nice.”

He swallowed. “Uh – yeah. I mean, sure. Whatever you want.”

“Thank you, Auruo,” she said softly, resting her head on his chest again.

And she knew it didn’t mean the same thing to him as it did to her – that he was humoring her, that being touched by people irritated him, and he went along with it because she was upset. But she was fine with it. She was grateful.

“I’m sorry if I ruined your shirt,” she said.

“Nah. Lots of people crying on me tonight,” he muttered, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

“You’ve got good shoulders for it,” she said, trying to tease. “Nice and wide.”

“Is that so, huh?” He tried very hard not to look pleased. “How about that.”

She smiled for the first time in what felt like years. “I wouldn’t lie.”

His hand skimmed up her back before reversing, and a wild jolt of feeling shot through her –such a small, careless touch, and yet it stole her breath. “You want to tell me what happened?”

She swallowed. “I …”

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to talk about it or whatever. I just – I mean, fuck, Petra. You show up in the middle of the night crying like I’ve never seen you cry, and I’m –“

“You’re worried.”

“Yeah, alright? Yeah, I’m worried.” He scowled. “Don’t be weird about it.”

She was quiet, measuring her words, steeling herself against them so she wouldn’t cry again. “I just had a bad fight with my dad.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“He said … he doesn’t want me to go back to training. He – he said I was just playing soldier, that I was small and I’d be killed, and –“ She bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood. “He said I only care because of you. Because you want to be a soldier, and I’m just … following you or whatever. Said I was pathetic.”

She realized belatedly that Auruo was shaking, and when she looked up at him she saw a muscle in his jaw flickering. “Are you angry?” she asked, stunned.

“Yeah, I’m angry!” Auruo bit out. “I’m fuckin’ angry! I’m sorry, I get angry when people do this shit to you! Where the fuck does he get off, saying that shit? Those _fuckin’ lies?!_ And – and making you cry. He’s supposed to be your family, he’s supposed to— to support you!”

She froze in his arms, struggling desperately to compose herself. “So does that mean you don’t care what my dad thinks of you anymore?”

“I only care what two people think of me, and he is not one of them!”

 She almost smiled, then. “You’ll care when you’re not so angry.”

“The hell I will!”

“Auruo …”

“No, let me tell you something, okay?” His arm shook so badly that she trembled with it. “He doesn’t know you at all, if that’s what he thinks. Okay? He doesn’t fuckin’ know you at all. I mean – _fuck,_ Petra. You wanted to be a soldier before you ever met me. You wanting to be a soldier is half the reason we even started talking, ‘cause we both did. We were gonna join the Survey Corps, even though everyone else just talked about how dangerous it was and how we’d just die, and even then we knew. And that happened before you ever met me, and before I met you. And – god, _fuck him!”_

“Auruo.”

“You’re not pathetic, okay? You’re – yeah, okay, you’re small but that doesn’t mean jack shit. There’s this soldier in the Survey Corps everyone talks about, Levi – he’s fuckin’ tiny but he’s the best soldier they have. He’s killed more Titans than anyone, so _fuck_ your dad if he seriously thinks you being small means you better just curl up in a little ball and do nothing your whole life.”

She was going to cry again – not from hurt, but because her heart suddenly felt too large for her chest. “Auruo …”

“I mean it, alright? You’re not pathetic. Goddammit, you’re the most – you’re – _you’re the_ _best person I know_.”

She buried her face in his chest to muffle the sob but he heard it anyway, and he peered down at her with an expression of terrible unhappiness. “Fuck, Petra, I – I was trying to make you feel better.”

“You did,” she cried, laughing a little through her tears. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Ah, geez,” he muttered, blushing furiously. But his arms tightened around her. “It’s the truth.”

They lapsed into a long silence, made full by the things he’d said and the way he held her. Even now, even after she’d cried and made a pathetic scene all over him, he hadn’t pushed her away. He simply kept holding her because she’d asked him to, and she’d never know how to thank him for it. And he was solid and warm, and the plane of his chest was better than any pillow, and he smelled so familiar and comforting, yet there was a heady edge to it – something mysterious that curled in her limbs, fluttering in her stomach.

“Your heart’s beating so fast,” she murmured before she could stop herself.

“I’m kinda worked up right now,” he said, then froze. “Ah – I mean. I’m kinda angry, still. About your dad.”

“Right,” she said. “You … I mean, you don’t have to stay angry. I think he was probably just scared … just saying these things because he doesn’t want to lose me.”

“I don’t care why he said them,” Auruo retorted. “He said them just the same, so he can fuck right off as far as I’m concerned.”

She didn’t reply. One thing that both endeared and irritated her about Auruo was that he’d hate her enemies more than she did herself. When she was thirteen, there’d been an older boy who called her the ugliest rat in Karanese, pointing out her grotesquely skinny legs and knobby knees and laughing himself stupid at the picture she posed. Auruo’s fury had gone beyond words. He’d marched right up that that older, larger boy and socked him straight in the face. It’d been a nasty scrap and Auruo had come out the loser, but in that moment he hadn’t cared – he’d only seen that this boy’s words had made her cry, and that was an offense he couldn’t stand.

But she thought about those two weirdos, as he’d said – those two isolated kids who’d stumbled into each other’s lives purely by chance, and grown together because they shared a dream, a passionate ambition that they would go their whole lives attempting to fulfill.

“I always wanted to know,” she said, finally breaking the silence. “Why you wanted to join the Survey Corps.”

“I told you already,” he said, shifting a little. “The Walls piss me off.”

“No, but. Like the real reason. The core of it all.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Like … I want the people I care about to be _free,”_ she said. “I want everyone to be able to live a life they want, a life independent.”

Auruo was quiet for a long while, considering his truth. “I guess … I want the people I care about to be safe.”

And she wasn’t imagining it – his arm tightened around her, ever so slightly. Just enough to know. She swallowed. “Not free?”

“Obviously I’d like it if they could be free too,” he said impatiently. “But … well, you asked why. That’s why.”

“Hm…”

He looked down at her, irritated. “Was this some kind of test or something?”

“No, Auruo. Geez. I was just curious.” She grinned. “It’s sweet.”

“Can you _not.”_

“What – call you sweet? You are, though.” She snuggled closer. “Letting me cry all over you, letting me get snot on your shirt. Saying all these nice things that you insist are true.”

“You’re kinda making me reconsider the whole thing,” he muttered.

“ _Really?”_

He scowled down at her, then sighed. “No. But I swear to god, if you start calling me sweet while we’re back at training, I’ll fuckin’ ignore you. I mean it! I will never speak to you again.”

“Yeah, you will.”

“I won’t! Just try me.”

“You couldn’t bear to,” she teased, poking him in the ribs and grinning when he jumped. “You’d miss me.”

“Alright, alright,” he muttered. “Just – geez. Just calm down.”

And she noticed with a jolt that he did not argue.

“Hey,” she asked him after a long silence, craning up to look at him. “Are you all right?”

“What?!”

“I mean, this week you’ve been … kind of distant. You’ve seemed upset. I just … I was worried.” She trailed off. “I’ll leave it alone if it’s nothing or you don’t want to talk about it, I just thought …”

“Nah, it’s fine,” he said, staring into the darkness. “It’s … remember all that money I saved up? Before we left?”

She did – half of his pay he’d saved and then given to his parents the day they left for training, so they’d be able to live a little easier without his contribution. She nodded.

“It’s just … it’s not lasting as long as I thought it would.”

“No?”

“No, they – well, earlier this year the grippe went through the house, and Dad couldn’t work for a few weeks, and then the brats got into some kind of scrap and ruined a bunch of clothes, just – basically tatters, so Mom had to replace them, and – well, you know. A thousand little things. And I … I started thinking maybe I should stay.”

“Stay … home?”

“Yeah. Stay and go back to work. Kind of ironic, I guess – meanwhile over on your end your dad’s hoping for you to do the same.”

Had this been his reason – the whole Interim, he was trying to think of a way to tell her goodbye? Before she could panic, he rubbed her back. “Hey, I’m – I decided I’m not. Gonna stay, I mean. It’ll be tight, probably. But when I’m a soldier I’ll be able to send them money again, and it’ll be better money than anything I could earn here.”

“Right,” she echoed.

“And … fuck, this sounds shitty. But I just … I don’t know. I’m going back because otherwise I’d go to work every day, in the steel mill probably, and think about those Titans on the other side of the Walls, how close they are to smashing everything that matters to me, and how I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it if that thing that busted Maria came back. You know?”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah…”

“So, there you have it. I’m, uh – I’m sorry I made you worry. Just didn’t really know how to talk about it while I was still trying to make up my mind.”

“Did you think I’d be angry with you?”

“Nah. I thought you’d probably be … oh, I don’t know. You’d give me that look you have on right now.”

She drew back. “What look?”

“That one. Pity Petra. Saint Petra the Kind. That look drives me nuts.”

She scowled at him. “Well, sorry for worrying about you even when you’re being a stupid jerk!”

“Whoa, now,” he grinned. “Settle down. I didn’t mean anything by it. And just so you understand, I didn’t say I hated that look either.”

“You said it drives you nuts.”

“That can be a good thing.”

“To weirdos, maybe.”

“I thought we established that’s what we are.” He pulled her tighter. “Come on, nag.”

 “I take it all back; you’re not sweet. You’re an asshole.”

“Geez! Cut out my heart, why don’t you?”

“You’d need a heart for that.”

He clutched at his chest with his free hand. “You are not kidding around tonight, are you? Fine, fine. I’m sorry I deigned to insult the glorious visage of Saint Petra the Kind. May her light reach us lowly peons here on earth, forever and ever. Thanks be to god.”

“You know I know you’re mocking me.”

“How’s that, now.”

“You don’t believe in god.”

He snorted. “Fine, you got me. I am sorry, though. Just – ah, never mind.”

“What.”

He shifted again, inadvertently pulling her closer. “Just trying to cheer you up, I guess.”

She couldn’t say anything to this, so she simply put her head back down against his chest, praying he would not see the flush of color that flooded her cheeks. His heartbeat raced against her ear, mirroring her own in a way that was odd and intimate. Every nerve in her body thrilled like a live wire, and each place of contact hummed with subverted want; the tension between them an almost physical presence. When she glanced up at him again, she was overcome with the terrifyingly visceral impulse to press her lips to his, to savor what she knew would be soft and warm. She wanted to cup his cheek, skim his lips with her thumb. Breathe in the scent of him – not only the familiar things, like steel and spice and graphite, but the scent of his skin.

And she felt like she was cheating – using the fact that they’d been friends for so long to stay pressed close to him, listening to the music of his heart. But the longer the night went on, the more difficult it became to pull herself out of his embrace. And she didn’t care that it made her pathetic or weak, or pitiable.  She didn’t care.

“Thank you,” she said much later, when the horizon was splashed with pale light and the birds sang for sunrise.

“Hm? For?”

She ducked her head and nestled close. _For holding me. For making me laugh. For being my friend, even though I’m not a true friend to you anymore. For being you, exactly as you are, and not anyone else._ “For this. For … for being here.”

She thought he’d brush this off with an awkward shrug and grudging comment, but instead he looked down at her with that expression she had no name for, the one that was the same as his embrace. “I’m not going anywhere,” he told her. And she believed him.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Auruo faced the dark forest, his blood buzzing in his ears. With a huff of breath, he lifted on the balls of his feet like a sprinter, like that sprinter he’d been exactly two years ago; just a dumb boy working his last day in the factory. A thrill of adrenaline surged through him, made him sharp as the blades in his hands. Today, they ran the course, and they were being marked. 

“We are not only looking for kills,” said the Commandant, strolling through the huddled members of Subclass Six. “But speed and skill. Unconventional thinking. The ability to react to a changing environment.”

“Just start the fucking test,” Wil hissed next to him.

“Took the words out of my mouth,” Auruo muttered.

He was not glib; far from it. Instead he was possessed with furious resolve, tempered only by fear. The last time they’d run this course, a boy had died – knocked right out of the air into a tree, snapping his neck before he could even cry out. They’d sent his broken body to his home village wrapped in canvas, with his training jacket folded under his head.

Auruo had no intention of meeting the same fate.

This run was the culmination training more intense than anything Auruo had experienced in his life. He’d foolishly believed that nothing could top the twelve hour shifts in the steel mill, stoking forges and hammering blades until his arms and shoulders burned with ache. But for the last year, the Commandant had driven the 102nd mercilessly, like dogs. He’d roused them before sunrise to run the perimeter until they could barely move, and then run them through the course while they gasped for breath. They’d studied horseback riding, wilderness survival, resource allocation, strategy, basic law and order (for those who’d choose Garrison and Military Police), politics, and economy. They’d practiced with the paring blades until blisters burst across their palms and hardened into callouses, until Auruo’s dreams no longer featured mindless slaughter by Titans or Petra’s bare skin, but those blades flashing deep into the neck of his massive foe.

And always; 3DMG. Any moment they were not sleeping, eating, or engaged in some secondary form of military education, they practiced with their 3DMG. As the Commandant liked to tell them, the first year of training was for the basics, and the second was dedicated to mastery. He reasoned that by the dawn of their third year, they should be more comfortable soaring through the air than walking on the ground. And in pursuit of this ideal, he drilled them on proper technique and practical applications, endless forms and contingencies. He drilled them until purple bruises bloomed across their legs and chests, bearing the shape of the belts. He drilled them tirelessly, ruthlessly – rain or shine, sun or shade.

Auruo craned over his shoulder, studying the rest of his subclass as they fidgeted. A year ago, the Commandant split the 102nd into subclasses and oversaw each personally, as it had been determined that they became better soldiers when met with more personal attention, and were deprived the option of fading into anonymity among hundreds. Auruo’s subclass was the smallest at about twenty large and included most of the older students. Axel and Oskar, Martin and Wil. And Petra, always Petra. He’d suffered training with them, nursed blistered raw hands and bruises and a thousand other injuries. And they’d made it out the other side. They’d survived.

At least, up until this moment.

Because they would be running the course in pairs, this meant his partner on the field was Wil. This wasn’t a surprise – in alphabetically sorted tests his partner was always Wil, and he’d become fairly accustomed to her idiosyncrasies. She was talented in nearly every aspect of training, excelling with minimal effort. She was also lackadaisical, irreverent, and easily spooked.

Currently, her trembling hands hovered over the hilt of her gear.  She bounced on the balls of her feet, clicking her tongue, and her stressed bobbing was starting to put him on edge.

“Fuckin’ calm down, already,” he hissed to her.

“You calm down.” She arched a pale brow. “Your lips are shaking.”

“Is that so, huh? Your skin’s looking less like a sheet and more like spoiled milk, Althaus.”

She fixed him with her favorite quicksilver grin. “You looking at my skin, Bossard? Pining away like some love-struck jackass? You _need_ me or something?”

“The only thing I need is for you to shut your goddamn mouth.” But he grinned too. This was their way – sniping back and forth, anything to blunt their anxiety.

Auruo studied the Commandant – still no closer to initiating the test, it seemed – and then chanced another glance over his shoulder. Martin shook from head to toe, his pale, pointed face crumpling when he heard a crash from inside the forest. At his side, Oskar’s cunning features were drawn, but he gently set one hand on the smaller boy’s shoulder and nodded encouragingly. Further back, Axel and Petra conferred in voices too low to be heard from the front of the line. But when she met his gaze her lips curved into a smile, and though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, he felt the hard knot of anxiety in his chest loosen slightly.

Axel grinned, shooting Auruo a thumbs up. “You got this, Boss!” he called.

“Quiet!” the Commandant barked.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Auruo muttered. “Is he ever afraid?”

“He’s too dumb to be afraid,” Wil said, rolling her eyes. 

Auruo didn’t respond to this, instead glancing at Petra again. He wasn’t going to stare, because after the last year of this he’d gotten pretty good at being covert about his unfortunate attraction, subsisting on glances. She’d bound her long copper hair tightly at the back of her neck, yet he worried anyway. A few months ago, a girl’s braid had come undone in the middle of the course, and it had caught in her gear, ripping out not only her hair but bits of scalp too. Auruo had heard her scream from ten kilometers away.

Wil, evidently, was thinking the same thing. “Don’t worry; I bound it up tight.”

“What are you talking about now?”

“Her hair,” Wil said, her grin sly. “That’s what you were looking at, right?”

“I was looking at the Commandant,” Auruo muttered, facing forward again. “What the fuck is he waiting for?”

Wil craned up to the grey sky, squinting at the clouds just as rain began to fall. “That, I expect.”

A chill shot down Auruo’s back, one that had nothing to with the rain spattering his neck, soaking his hair and cloak almost immediately. “ _Shit,”_ he hissed.

“Althaus! Bossard! Get ready!” the Commandant called from his perch. Already, he was barely visible through the downpour.

Auruo lifted on the balls of his feet again, heart hammering sickly in his chest. His hands shook. He thought about the rankings, thought about the boy who’d died, and the girl who’d had her scalp ripped from her skull. Thought about how it could be one of his friends this time – terrified Martin, gregarious Axel. How it could be Petra. Thought about it could be him, and they’d remove his broken rain-soaked body from the forest, wrapping him in canvas for the journey home to his family.

No, that wasn’t going to happen. He wouldn’t let it.

“See you in there, Boss,” Wil said, trying to grin again, but her eyes were pitted with animal fear.

“Yeah,” Auruo returned. “Keep your head, you fuckin’ disaster.”

“Right back at you.” She held out a fist to him, and he tapped it with his own. She didn’t comment on his shaking hands, so he decided to do her the same courtesy.

The Commandant raised his pistol and fired an acoustic round. And with a huff of breath, Auruo and Wil leapt from the platform, grappling the closest tree and soaring into the dark forest.

He entered a quiet place in his mind; shoved the fear and anxiety behind ironclad walls and lived only in this moment, absorbed only his surroundings: the massive trees whistling past, the impenetrable haze of the rain. Wil – a pale blur looping in and out of his peripheral sight. He dodged branches, scanning for the looming forms of the Titan dummies.

_Don’t think, don’t think. React._

Something flashed at the edge of his vision, a dark shape whistling through the air, and he reversed at the last second, flipping backward just as a wire-bound log swung through the space he’d occupied just a half-second earlier. Heart racing, hands shaking. Realization descended; he’d been just a breath away from being the boy in the canvas. _Traps;_ to approximate the wild reach of a Titan just before they snatched you out of the air, maybe?

_Not important. Think about it later._

Through the downpour, he could just barely see the outline of a dummy, and the pinpoint target at the back of its neck. He grappled the tree closest to it and rocketed forward, blades drawn and humming in his hands. Twisted, spun – felt the cut travel up his arms, as if his body had become a conduit for the echoed action. And when he looked back, he saw that he’d cut the neck pad nearly to the quick.

It was a long slog through the course, even longer due to the rain. He wasn’t the fastest in their year – that honor went to Petra, without question – but he could still acquit himself pretty well on timed runs. The downpour made a quick shot impossible; he moved from dummy to dummy, always keeping a careful scan of his surroundings for more traps, always vigilant for a flash of movement at the corner of his eye.

And he cut them up, every dummy he came across. He imagined real Titan flesh under his blades, and real Titans eager to bat him out of the air, crush him in their fists, swallow him in pieces. As he shot from one to the next, it reaffirmed something he’d known about himself since the moment Maria had fallen; he was meant for this.

He’d just about completed the course when he heard Wil behind him. He wasn’t so much of a fool that he’d turn his back on the course before they were out of the forest, but he smirked when she pulled level. “How many’d you get?” she called to him.

Auruo shrugged, grappling another tree and catapulting out of the treeline. “Twelve, I think. Wasn’t counting.”

“Bull _shit_ you weren’t, you fucking liar,” she screeched. “ _Twelve?!_ How the fuck-?!”

“Thought you didn’t care,” Auruo said easily, landing hard with a clatter on the waiting platform. Now that they were free of the forest and the danger, he felt a smug grin pulling at his lips. This was another realization he’d arrived at in the last year – he was pretty fucking good at this whole Titan killing business. And it felt good to be good at something.

“I don’t,” Wil said, blasé mask back in place. “Twelve, though; that’s something. Maybe Commandant’ll actually give you a fair grade this time.”

“Yeah, right,” Auruo muttered, shrugging deeper into his sodden cloak. “That guy hates my guts. He’ll grade me fair the day I die, probably.”

“Ha, you said it. ‘ _Here lies Auruo Bossard. He deserved tens when I gave him fives. Rest in pieces, you fucking failure.’”_

Auruo had become fairly accustomed to Wil’s macabre humor; unlike Petra, however, he’d developed a taste for it. “You’re messed up,” he laughed.

They let the subject lapse when one of the attending instructors jogged up to the platform, shielding his eyes from the rain. “You both alright?”

“Does it look like we aren’t?” Wil called back, and Auruo snickered.

The instructor was not impressed. “You’ll wait there until your subclass finishes the course.”

“In this fucking rain?” Wil demanded.

“You’ve got your cloaks. It’s no worse than you’ll experience on the field as a soldier,” the instructor said with a shrug.

“Hey, hey!” Auruo shouted. “Hold up! What about our scores?”

“You’ll get them before midday meal, like everyone,” said the instructor, frowning as he turned back to the forest.

Auruo shoved her. “Geez, you can’t keep your goddamn mouth shut, can you?”

“You should talk, you asshole!” But she laughed.

They watched the edges of the forest for their classmates, for their friends – keeping themselves still when the acoustic pistol marked the start of a new test, and breathing out when the next pair would join them on the platform.

Auruo watched for his friends, but he feared for Petra. He would never admit this to her, knowing full well that it was a sensitive subject, and she needed to know that he believed in her, because he _did –_ he believed in her more than anything. But that didn’t mean he didn’t look at the dark forest with an odd thrill of foreboding curling in his gut. Vague fears assaulted him – Petra with a snapped neck, Petra crushed by one of the traps, Petra broken beyond his ability to save.

“Hey, Boss,” Wil said, elbowing him. “Put that scowl away. It makes you look old.”

“I look old whether I’m scowling or smiling,” he said with a sigh.

“Nah, you don’t. And anyway I was kidding.”

“Right.”

“But seriously, stop glowering. It’s giving me a headache.”

“Wouldn’t want that.”

“Exactly. They’ll be fine. Petra’s better than you at 3DMG, and you’re pretty good.”

It didn’t even occur to Auruo to be insulted. “Yeah,” he said, his voice nearly drowned out by the rain.

“You make your move yet?” Wil asked, as easily as if she were commenting on the weather. She might as well have been; she posed this question with the same infuriating regularity.

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” Auruo said, wrestling his tone into one of boredom. He hoped that she’d get the hint this time and let it drop, but so far nothing doing.

“Don’t act dumb with me, Bossard.”

“It’s not an act. I really am dumb.”

Wil narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, you are. You have no idea … you’re wasting all this time because you’re too chickenshit to suck it up and put yourself out there for once in your life.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Auruo said, looking away. “Just drop it, alright? It’s none of your goddamn business.” He cleared his throat, studying the darkened treeline through the rain. “I’m fine with the way things are.”

“Sure,” Wil said, shaking her head. “Sure you are.”

They’d had some form of this conversation almost every week, and Auruo was heartily sick of it. Wil – that meddling shit – insisted that he should just take a chance and confess to his best friend that he adored her, that he thought about her all the time, sometimes naked, and after confessing all this humiliating shit just hope for the best. She argued that keeping it to himself would eat away at him, so he might as well just get it out in the open and see what happened. And Auruo had explained countless times that Petra didn’t think of him that way, and that was fine. He was fine with it. Things would continue the way they were – the two of them, as friends – and he was fine. Fine. With. It.

And Wil would always shake her head at him as if he was hopelessly stupid. As if he was missing some integral piece of the puzzle.

Well, what the fuck did she know?

“How’d you like it if I started constantly badgering you about your personal life every fuckin’ day, huh? Like, what if I started asking you for details on that girl you drag off every night?” He flashed her a sly grin. “How’d you like that?”

“I wouldn’t care,” Wil said with a shrug. “And anyway, that’s finished.”

Auruo’s grin faded. “Already?”

“What do you mean, already? God damn, that one hung on for like … a whole month.”

“Right, I forgot; we measure the length of your conquests in dog years.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Wil said. “A month is a long time. It’s a fucking eternity.”

Auruo didn’t know about that; he knew that if he was lucky enough to have a month with Petra, or even just one day, it would pass in the blink of an eye. “I don’t get you,” he said. “You and Axel; I don’t get either of you at all.”

“Yeah,” Wil said, her tone distant. “Me and Axel, alright.”

Her odd mood finally dawned on him, which was a feat considering he wasn’t really that perceptive in these matters. “What’s going on?” he asked slowly.

Abruptly the famous grin was back; arch-browed and sly, more a sneer than a smile of real emotion. “Nothing’s going on, of course.”

“Don't sound like nothing to me.”

“Ah, give it a rest, Boss.”

Auruo scowled at her. “Are either of you ever going to stop calling me that stupid fuckin’ name?”

Now her smile became genuine. “Probably not,” she said easily. “It’s catchy. It suits you.”

“It’s stupid.”

“What did I just say about it suiting you?”

“Ha, ha. You’re so funny.”

“I am, aren’t I?” She stretched languorously, and it was a credit to her presence that the action wasn’t ridiculous in the middle of a downpour. “You know, I think my score’s going to be good enough to put me in the top ten.”

“That so?”

“Of course. I didn’t even get a scratch on me.”

“I killed more than you. And my time was better.”

“This is true,” Wil agreed. “But the Commandant hates you. You’ll be stuck with the rest of the mediocre, and I’ll look down on you from the first spot and laugh.”

“You’ll probably get top ten, sure,” Auruo said, “but no way are you going to be first.”

“Your faith in me is an endless source of inspiration.”

“I’m serious,” he said. “You don’t care enough.”

“Pretty sure ‘caring’ isn’t something we’re being graded on.”

Auruo wrapped his arms around his knees, shoulders hunching. “Maybe it should be.”

“Is this that old chestnut again?” Wil asked, jostling him in the ribs. “I’m not going to apologize for being proud. For being that much closer to where I want to be.”

“The Military Police,” he said, trying to swallow his bitterness.

“That’s right.” She paused, considering him. “You know, Auruo, you could probably get in the Police too. You probably won’t be first, but you’ll be top ten easy. You could move up to Sina, make lots of money, live comfortably, eat all that nice food the rich folk get. Oh, and serve the King, I guess.” She flashed him a winning smile. “Haven’t you ever at least thought about it?”

“Sure, I’ve thought about it,” Auruo said, glowering. “Then I decided it was bullshit.”

“Bullshit, huh.”

He rounded on her. “Yeah, it is bullshit. It’s fuckin’ bullshit. Don’t talk to me about the Military Police, alright? I don’t care what you do with your life, but just leave me the fuck out of it.”

She stared at him, unruffled by his outburst. “Maybe if you actually explained yourself instead of hurling the usual indiscriminate cursing at my face, I’d drop the subject.”

She knew him too well. “It’s  -- it’s bullshit, okay? I don’t know how else to explain it. All the rich just huddle up behind Sina where it’s safest, and they don’t have to worry about the same things we do. They get all the best food, they eat meat all the time, and their houses are never too cold, so you don’t hear about their babies freezing to death in the middle of winter. And you got the cowards here who trundle off to the Military Police because they want in on it – and they end up just … making it worse for the normal people, making the gap wider. You just want to go keep watch over the fuckin’ bullshit King and the rich, and it gets wider every year.”

“What are you talking about?”

His hands curled into furious shapes. “Just – look, I’m not good at politics, and I’m not very smart so I don’t know much about this shit. But I do know that my brothers never get enough to eat, and Petra’s mom died because they couldn’t fuckin’ afford the fancy doctors that treat the Sina folk, and my dad’s not even forty and has arthritis already because he works himself to death trying to make enough to feed his family. You split the army up and shuffle off the elite for the rich, who just hoard everything good for themselves while we starve and die, when they should be working for everyone. When they should all be trying to kill the Titans.”

“Some people have to stay and guard the people, you know,” Wil said quietly.

“Sure, but there are more people than just the rich assholes who get the best of everything. And why’s it gotta be the top ten keeping them safe? You ever hear of fuckin’ Military Police needing to use the 3DMG to watch the King? No, of course not. But that’s the way it is. It’s bullshit. It’s just fuckin’ bullshit.”

He expected Wil to brush off his tirade with her usually smug disregard, but instead she looked at him with an expression he couldn’t read. “You’ll get in trouble talking like that about the King.”

“You gonna rat me out?” he asked her.

“I might, if you piss me off.”

He sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry for yelling.”

“Why? You should yell more,” Wil said with a grin. “That whole silent-glowering thing doesn’t really work for you.”

“Like I could give two shits what works for me.”

“Settle down. I’m just yanking your dick.”

He’d gotten pretty accustomed to that turn of phrase, too. “You better not.”

She snorted, glancing at the trees again. “I think that’s Martin and Oskar.”

And sure enough, from the lip of the forest came two figures – one massive, one slim. They landed hard on the platform, Oskar with grace that shouldn’t have been possible for such a large person. They were soaked to their bones and shivering, but after a moment they both grinned, and Auruo felt himself relax.

“You do alright?” he asked.

Martin nodded, still trembling a bit. “Oskar saved me,” he said with a grateful look at the other.

Oskar shook his head and clapped Martin on the back.

“You did! Look, you cut your face,” Martin said, brows knitting together as he reached up and brushed at a razor fine slash on Oskar’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”

Oskar shrugged, giving Martin’s shoulder a little shake. He was always doing shit like this, Auruo thought, always pulling punches and sticking his neck too far for them, always a steady hand on your shoulder. Not for the first time, Auruo wished he spoke more, just to hear the kind of things he'd talk about. 

“How many you get?” Auruo asked.

“I killed three,” Martin said, a little pleased smile transforming his face from one of pinched fear to something proud, almost bright. “Oskar killed six.”

“That’s better than last time, isn’t it?” Wil said.

Martin plopped down next to Auruo, hugging his knees to his chest. “Yes. Last time I only killed one. I imagine you ruined thirty as usual, am I correct?”

Auruo rolled his eyes. “They don’t even have that many in the course, smartass.”

But Martin was far too keen for Auruo’s various deflections; he fixed Auruo with a steady grey gaze, one that would tolerate no lies. “How many?”

“Twelve,” Auruo muttered, hunching further into his cloak. “I think. I wasn’t counting.”

“He keeps saying that,” Wil cut in with a smirk. “I’m not sure we believe him, huh boys?”

There was a loud shot from the other side of the forest, and the retort Auruo had been planning died in the back of his throat. Unconsciously, his hands curled into nervous fists, and he bundled them under his cloak so no one would see. He knew because he’d been paying attention to the progress of the line; at this moment, Petra and Axel were soaring into the trap-laden forest, and anything could happen. The frantic reel of thoughts resurfaced – the boy in canvas, the girl with the bloody scalp, Petra crushed beyond saving. Auruo swallowed hard.

“That’ll be dumbass,” Wil said with a shrug. “How far behind you think Petra’ll leave him in the dust, this time?”

“He isn’t as bad as you say,” Martin said, frowning. “He killed seven last time, remember?”

“We’ll see,” Wil muttered.  

None of them spoke again. Raindrops teased from the end Auruo’s nose, and he buried his face deeper in the cowl of his cloak, head forward, as if in prayer. He did not shiver when droplets slid down the back of his exposed neck; rather, the cold galvanized him. He would never admit this to anyone, but more than anything he wanted to do these trials paired with Petra.  Partly because they worked well together, able to move in and out of each other’s paths without so much as a word of direction. But part was the promise they’d made as kids, two dumb kids sitting in a green field, listening to the wind rustle through the branches of their tree. _We’ll look out for each other._

And he couldn’t very well do that sitting on a sodden platform while she hurtled through that dangerous forest.

He barely had a chance to worry; in half the time it took him to complete the course, he saw a flash of her copper hair through the downpour, and in the next moment she was soaring out of the treeline. And he’d never forget this as long as he lived; the sight of her moving out of darkness, a streak of light through rain. Her green cloak fluttering out behind her, the hilts of her gear caught in a sure grip. And the look on her face; not just confidence, but pride. She met his gaze as she soared, and a bright smile stole across her face.

“Stow the dopey grin, Boss,” Wil muttered, elbowing him in the ribs. He hadn’t even realized he’d been smiling too.

Unlike the rest of them, she landed gracefully on the platform, stowing her hilts and pushing a sopping strand of hair out of her eyes. “Hey, all.”

“Hey, lamb,” Wil said, sly. “How’d you do? I notice Axel’s nowhere to be seen.”

“He was right behind me a minute ago,” Petra said, craning around. 

“You’re always fastest, you smug little punk,” Wil said, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “That’s my girl.”

“I only got seven this time,” Petra said, slumping a little into Wil’s side, and Auruo tried to ignore the little flash of envy that curled in his stomach at the sight.  What he’d give to be able to touch her with such ease, or even hold her like he had their last night of first Interim. She might have forgotten about it, but he hadn’t. He couldn’t.

“Ah, but seven is a perfectly respectable number,” Wil said, giving Petra a little shake. “We can’t all be prodigies like Bossard.”

Petra grinned down at him. “How many?”

And he hated the blush that warmed his cheeks – half from her attention, half from the smile. “I dunno.”

“He does too. He keeps saying he wasn’t really counting,” Wil said, rolling her eyes.

“Come on, Auruo,” Petra said, taking a seat next to him and bundling up in her cloak. “How many?”

“Twelve. Probably less, though. I wasn’t really paying attention.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Was thinking more about the traps.”

“Yeah, they were pretty rough.” Her smile widened, and he felt his breath still in his chest. “I _was_ paying attention, though.”

The conversation continued on without him, which was fine. While they waited for Axel, and then later as they tromped through the muddy grounds for their scores, Auruo stole glances at her, only ever glances; hard to track, harder to catch. And as he did, a slow realization stole through him. She was strong and fast, she was so incredibly skilled, and he could trust in these things, just as she trusted them in him.

They ducked into the mess hall, stamping the mud from their boots and wringing the rainwater out of their sodden cloaks. On the bulletin board by the door, Auruo saw a freshly drawn sheet of paper, spattered with only a bit of water. “Is that--?”

“Shit!” Axel hissed. “Come on.”

They crowded around, craning for a closer look.

Subclass Six

_Wilhelmina Althaus – 8_  
_Auruo Bossard – 8_  
_Gavin Busch – 4_  
_Henrietta Drescher – 5_  
_Michael Eberhart – 4_  
_Inge Eberhart – 6_  
_Frederick Faber – 2_  
_Konrad Haas - 5_  
_Oskar Haupt – 7_  
_Martin Klossner – 6_  
_Axel Leitz – 7_  
_Petra Ral – 8_  
_Maria Ritter – 3_  
_Marie Rothschild – 3_  
_Gretchen Schumacher – 7_   
_Bevin Schwarz - 3_  
_Fritz Solberg - 2_  
_Daniel Strauss - 4_  
_Analise Vogel – 4_  
_Lukas Weiman – 3_

“Eight!” Wil crowed, grabbing Auruo and Petra’s arms and shaking them delightedly. “We got eights!”

Axel arched a brow, but could not seem to wrestle his grin into submission. “Since when do you care, Wilhelmina?”

The smooth mask was back in place. “I don’t, of course.” She said this with every ounce of cool reserve she could muster, but they’d all seen – and they all knew. “I thought Boss would be pleased, is all. This is the highest score they’ve ever given him.”

“But you cut down twelve,” Petra said with a frown. “It’s not a fair score.”

He waved this off. “It’s fine. It’s – ha. It’s just fine.”

And it was – partly because of the score, portent of his ambitions. But the larger part – the more impossible, incredible part that he would remember longer after, was that Petra had taken offense on his behalf. He was grinning like a dope again, and this time he couldn’t stop.

 


	16. Chapter 16

“Alright, lamb,” said Wil, and she sank into the ready stance. “Come at me.”

Petra frowned. “I don’t know about this.”

“You’re supposed to take the knife from me; that’s the game.”

“It’s not a game,” Petra said, her frown deepening. “Especially not for you.”

“Right, right, because up in Sina there’s fucking vagabonds and cutthroats around every corner.” Wil smirked. “Just waiting for some dumb rube to pass by.”

“There must be. Otherwise why would they bother teaching us this?”

Wil slouched artfully, hip cocked, adopting an expression of utter boredom. “Because it’s a game? Because it’s funny to watch us beat the shit out of each other and sweat our asses off on such a hot day.” Her smirk returned, this time with an utterly diabolical edge. “Because we’re all horny teenagers, and this gives us a chance to get nice and close.”

“I doubt the instructors care about facilitating opportunities for us to grope each other.” Petra arched a brow, rocking back on her heels. “In fact, fraternization is pretty much forbidden.”

“My goodness; you’ve gotten bitter in your old age.” Wil gestured around the compound, where Subclasses Five and Six were currently split into pairs, attempting to wrestle the wooden knives from their partners’ hands. “Do you think that stops anyone?”

“It certainly doesn’t stop you.”

“No,” Wil agreed blithely. “No, it does not.”

“Althaus! Ral!” one of the instructors snapped as he passed their spot in the corner of the enclosure. “Get on with it!”

Wil’s answering salute was decidedly sarcastic. “Yessir! Right away, sir!” She waited until he’d turned on his heel to harass another pair for throwing their knives instead of using them for the proper exercise. “Better come at me, lamb. Nice and easy, so we can talk at the same time.”

For the first time all day, Petra grinned. “Oh, I should go easy on you, huh? Lamb this, lamb that.” She paused for effect. “Maybe I’m no lamb.”

“Am I supposed to be intimidated?”

“You would be if you were smart.”

“Ha!” Wil wagged the knife. “I like it when you get pissy.”

“I’ll show you pissy.” Before Wil could guard against the onslaught, Petra charged; fast as she knew she could be, faster than anyone in their class. Before Wil could even bring the blade to bear, Petra feinted right, then with a huff of breath twisted Wil’s arm and plucked the dummy knife out of Wil’s hands.

Wil gaped at her, rolling her shoulder. “How are you so fucking _fast?”_

In this one area, Petra allowed herself the luxury of pride. More than anything, better than anything, she was fast. “How are you just now realizing that?” With a little flourish, she flipped the knife and caught it in a reverse grip – entirely by accident, but the effect was so ridiculously cool that she couldn’t help but to grin.

She cast her gaze around the enclosure, watching her classmates spar. Martin was currently engaged in a desperate melee with Johanna, who for all her tenacity was evenly matched by his reserve. Oskar and Axel took turns throwing knives at each other’s faces, and she saw a rare grin chase its way across the former’s face. A few feet away Auruo was locked in bitter struggle with Gretchen, who looked more than a little pleased with the arrangement.

This might have only annoyed her vaguely, but what shot a flash of jealousy curling through her gut was the grin that stole across Auruo’s face as Gretchen gripped his wrist, twisting him until they were pressed nearly chest to chest. And even then, so caught, Auruo refused to relinquish his hold on the knife. As if he found his current state agreeable.

And she knew; if she’d twisted close to Auruo, so close that there was no space between them, so close that she could feel his breathing, he would flinch away. He wouldn’t look at her like that.

“Why’re you scowling, lamb?”

Petra smoothed her expression into one of unconcern. “I’m not.”

“Yeah, you were.” A cheeky grin. “You think I can’t read that cute face by now?”

“Wil …”

Instead of letting the matter drop, as Petra would have vastly preferred, Wil craned around and studied the scene with academic interest. “Ah. There it is.”

“Can you just drop it? Please?”

“Drop what?”

“Nothing.” She closed her eyes, shook her head as if to shake the thought away. “There’s nothing to drop.”

“Your one great love’s getting all _close_ with your nemesis – I’d say that’s something.”

“She’s not my nemesis. I don’t even know her.”

“You know _of_ her. You know she nurses a sweet spot for that weirdo you thirst for.”

Petra’s temper, usually so well managed, surfaced with ugly insistence, and she rounded on her friend. “I know you’re constantly in search of titillating drama, but can you stop inventing drama around me for your own personal amusement?”

“I’m not inventing anything,” Wil said with an infuriating grin, completely unfazed by the censure in Petra’s voice. “It’s all right there.”

“It’s not. It’s part of the exercise, is all.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Wil said with a shrug. “I mean, maybe he’s just being polite. He is polite, isn’t he?”

Petra’s heart sank. Auruo was many things, but polite was not one of them. She felt herself losing control on the roiling tumult of her emotions, and she gripped the handle of the dummy knife tightly to galvanize herself, blinking her stinging eyes hard. “Wil.”

Finally, Wil seemed to hear the odd note in Petra’s voice. “Yeah, lamb?” she asked, brows lifting.

“You win. I’m upset. Okay?” She took a deep breath. “I’d like it if instead of teasing me and making me feel worse about something that I know is stupid and foolish, you helped me forget about it. Or helped me feel better. Honestly, I wouldn’t be picky at this point; just stop what you’re doing right now.”

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel worse,” Wil said, and for once her expression was almost transparently wounded. “I thought – like if I laughed about it, you would too.”

“Well, you made me feel worse. It _is_ stupid, but that doesn’t mean I want to laugh about it.”

Wil was quiet for a long time. Petra normally had no trouble reading her mercurial friend’s expressions, but something was different this afternoon. There was an odd note in her eyes – hurt or frustration, perhaps. Something that Petra had no name for, and therefore could not address. Finally, she spoke again. “You don’t have to get so upset,” she said, her voice easing back into the sly tone she so often preferred. “We can talk about my grand sexual adventures instead.”

Petra sighed. She wasn’t really in the mood for this conversation. Her patience, normally such an ironclad and unlimited resource, was dangerously thin today. But she quickly decided that any topic would be better than the last, so she acquiesced. “Who is it this time?”

With a laugh, Wil slung her arm around Petra’s shoulders and spun her around until they faced the other side of the enclosure. “See that guy with the orange hair?”

“Yes …”

“I’ve decided I will make him mine.”

“At least until you get bored with him.”

“Do I detect a note of disapproval, dear Petra?”

Petra glanced closer at the boy – decidedly average in looks, skill, and temperament except for his shockingly orange hair, which was so vivid it almost seemed to throw off its own light. He had sad eyes, she thought, and an awkward bearing. “He looks like he’ll be one of the ones that gets attached.”

“They all get attached.”

“You know what I mean,” Petra said, brows knitting together. After two years of this ritual, and a steadily growing line of broken hearts littered behind her friend’s boundless charge forward, she’d become fairly apt at picking out the sensitive ones. “He looks like he’d really be hurt if you left after you finished with him.”

“You think he’s a virgin.”

“He probably is, I don’t know,” Petra equivocated. “That isn’t strictly relevant. Look at his eyes.”

Wil heaved a grudging sigh but obeyed, studying the boy’s face with a narrowed, thoughtful stare. “They’re cute.”

Petra forced herself to keep from pinching the bridge of her nose. “They’re vulnerable.”

“How can you tell?”

“Just watch him! And don’t see something you want, but an actual person!”

Wil paused, startled the curse Petra so rarely used, and craned over to fix her with an irritated gaze. “You think I’m some kind of heartbreaker, is that it?”

“You _are,”_ Petra said gently. “And before you get upset, I want you to know that I don’t have a problem with this otherwise, okay?”

“Boy, that’s a relief. Because I was getting really worried for a minute there,” Wil fired back.  

Petra did not rise to the bait – for once put off the repartee by the boy with the orange hair, who looked so lonely and sad as he fumbled with the dummy knife. Who looked like he’d break the moment Wil cast him aside. “Just … maybe go for the ones that won’t be devastated when you leave them behind, all right?”

“How could I possibly know that before I do anything?!”

In a surge of affectionate goodwill, Petra wrapped her arm around Wil’s waist. “I have the utmost faith you’ll figure it out.”

“It’s not like they’re lining up anymore, you know.”

“You do have a bit of a reputation,” Petra agreed.

Wil smirked. “Exactly. Notorious for my beauty and charm.”

“You’re notorious for using and losing.”

“You know, lamb, I think I _do_ hear that note of disapproval.” Her tone was light, but her eyes had gone hard, and her lips pursed.

“Wil.”

“I’m just saying!”

Petra pinched Wil’s narrow hip. “I told you I don’t judge.”

“You just want me to fuck the cutthroat ones like me.”

“You’re not cutthroat.” She bit her lip -- weighing circumspection against her point. “You don’t understand. Your ex … whatever they are, they always come to me trying to figure out what went wrong. Sometimes they cry. And I try to comfort them but they’re always so … _hurt._ Most of the time I help them understand that it isn’t them and it isn’t you; it’s just not meant to be. And I don’t mind doing it, but … I think you’re better than this.”

Wil’s expression was unreadable – not quite stricken, but not unaffected either— and Petra wondered if she had truly never considered that the people she shared those heady evenings with would miss her after she left. But in the next moment she shrugged out of Petra’s hold.

“I’m not,” she said in an odd voice -- cold as a winter storm. “I’m not better than this. I see what I want and I go for it, and if I don’t want it anymore, then I don’t waste time pretending that I do.”

“Wil …”

“And in fact,” she continued. “I’m not going to change who I am or how I do things just because you think I’m a – a user or some shit.”

Petra held up her hands, placating. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, you did. You’re saying I need to quit fucking the ones that get attached because I ‘use and lose’, remember?”

“I just said that was your reputation.”

“Don’t play word games with me,” Wil snapped. “You meant it. Just fucking admit that you think I’m awful. Stop dancing around and admit it.”

“I don’t think you’re awful!” Petra shouted, finally exhausted of her patience. “I think sometimes you do awful things to people you don’t care about!”

Wil’s eyes went wider than Petra had even seen them – so wide she could see flecks of brown in the sea of blue. “That’s what you think, huh?”

“Wil, come on …” Petra said, biting her lip. “I’m sorry, I’m just –“

“Well, you know what I think? I think you’re pathetic.”

Petra recoiled – nerves buzzing, her blood rushing in her ears. “What?”

“You’re pathetic. You think I’m awful for fucking around? You’re pathetic for pining after one person for what – three years of your life? – and not doing anything about it. That’s fucking pathetic.” Her eyes narrowed into furious slits. “It’s childish.”

Petra balled her hands at her sides and let out a trembling breath. What made this worse, what made this almost unforgivable, is that Wil knew full well what the word _pathetic_ meant to Petra. She knew about that last night of First Interim, over a year ago. And she’d known how the word had crawled into Petra’s thoughts, twining with her anxieties.

“Pathetic,” Petra echoed, swallowing her heart.

As a rush of heat flooded her face, Petra stared at her friend; at Wil’s raised shoulders and balled fists, the hard lines of her face, brows pulled low over eyes that had lost their clever spark and now glinted like black ice. She stared at this girl who had been her bunkmate and friend for the last two years, and suddenly was more a stranger than ever before.

“Althaus! Ral! This isn’t social hour,” one of the instructors barked. “Get back to the exercise!”

And swallowing every measure of tender hurt, she faced Wil and arranged her features into an expressionless mask, falling into the defensive stance. “You heard him.”

Wil did not hesitate; she flew at Petra with a razor sharp focus. There was nothing of her incorrigible friend left in the girl hailing her with a flurry of blows that came almost too quickly to be blocked – this was Wil the force of nature, Wil the uncaring storm, who didn’t stop for hurt or pain or any feeling at all.

Wil swung out with a hard left, hooking her foot around Petra’s and sliding before Petra could steady herself. She landed hard on her back, a startled _oof_ escaping between parted lips. Above her Wil loomed, and in this shade her eyes looked almost black, hard and cold as obsidian.

Without a word, she bent and snatched the knife out of Petra’s hand.

~

That night, Petra sat alone on the porch outside the common hall and nursed the bump on the back of her head. Biting her lip, she prodded it gingerly and winced when it throbbed. She wouldn’t go to the infirmary since there was no accompanying dizziness or nausea, but that didn’t change that it _hurt._

In more ways than one.

She hadn’t spoken to Wil since their altercation, and there was a small part of her that wasn’t sure she ever wanted to again. She didn’t carry grudges like Auruo did, who would refuse to acknowledge that the recipient of his animosity even lived, but she was no pushover. Not anymore at least. She’d had enough of being the short, skinny girl with a too tender heart– the butt of jokes and derision. She was less than a year away from becoming a proud soldier of the Survey Corps, the hope of humanity. Proud soldiers didn’t huddle up and cry because their feelings were hurt. So neither would she.

But Wil’s condemnation rang through her thoughts even as the sun set and the air became cool, as a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees marking the perimeter. _It’s pathetic,_ she’d said, but the underlying meaning was clear; _you’re_ pathetic. And perhaps it was, Petra realized as she picked at a fraying thread in the hem of her skirt.

She _was_ pathetic, for nursing some stupid infatuation for her closest friend, and for wasting so much of her time pining for someone who did not see her in the same way, and never would. It was stupid that she should look at him and need – and she did, sometimes so acutely that it stole her breath, that it crawled through every nerve and fiber of her being, until every place that he didn’t touch ached desperately for it. She was pathetic to risk one of the most meaningful friendships in her life for something so uncertain and risky, for something so _stupid._

It was especially stupid to be jealous, when she had no real claim to him.

She could move on, she thought. Put him aside and let Wil try her hand at matchmaking – assuming that they ever reconciled, anyway. And they would, Petra knew; tonight she’d go back to the barracks and apologize for hurting her, and hope for an apology in return. This wasn’t the first time they’d had an argument, and it wouldn’t be the last either.

Petra chewed on her lower lip, lost in thought. She could let some nameless faceless boy clumsily grope and kiss her, and perhaps more. The thought of it made her feel vaguely sick. Inevitably, the nameless faceless boy took the shape of Auruo in her mind, and the feeling changed as well; no longer nausea but something she had no name for, something that swooped low in her stomach and made her heart falter, something like a shudder of fingers chasing over risen flesh.

She swallowed hard and set that thought far away. No; instead, she would put the whole institution behind her. She was going to be a soldier, and not just any soldier but one of the best. She would allow only the thought of freeing humanity from the threat of the Titans to fill her mind.  Her hands twitched in her lap, as if aching for the hilts of her blades, the comforting weight of her gear at her lower back and thighs. She thought of soaring through the air like a streak of fast silver, and with every Titan she killed she brought the world that much closer to freedom.

“Hey nag,” came a voice behind her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. It was Auruo and Martin, the latter with his violin case clasped firmly in his hands.

“Geez, Auruo,” she gasped, clutching at her chest. “You startled me.”

“Since when are you so jumpy?” he shot back, plopping down on the porch beside her. “I thought you had nerves of steel. Petra the Fierce, who flinches for no man.”

“We all have off days,” she retorted. “Am I allowed to have an off day?”

He heard the odd tone in her voice immediately, and his grin faltered. “Sure, Petra. You want us to leave you alone or something?”

To her shame, she thought about it. But he looked at her without his famous smirk; instead his expression was earnest and full of concern, and suddenly she needed that. She needed his concern and care, though it would never be the kind she wanted. “No, you’re fine.” She hesitated. “In fact, I could use the company.”

“Dunno what kind of company I am,” Auruo said, ducking his head. “Martin was gonna play a bit though.”

“I don’t have to,” Martin interjected with raised palms. “The quiet is fine too.”

And she smiled, for what felt like the first time that day. “You know I love to hear you play, Martin.”

Martin studied the violin in his lap, but a small smile stole across his face, and as always it softened his pinched features into something handsome.

“And what quiet?” Auruo smirked. “You can hear the fuckin’ game from out here.”

Petra turned to study his face. “Game?”

“Ugh, they’re doing this stupid thing where they pass around a cookie only using their teeth or whatever,” Auruo explained, his cheeks coloring slightly. “Because it’s like kissing.”

“Gretchen wanted you to,” Martin interjected as he rosined his bow.

“Who the fuck cares what Gretchen wants aside from Gretchen and her court of willing slaves,” Auruo said with a careless shrug. “Think about how disgusting that fuckin’ cookie will be by the time it makes it around the circle.”

Martin grinned. “I don’t think the cookie is the point.”

“Well, aren’t you a genius. Of course it’s not.”

“You’d chance contact with a disgusting cookie if it was someone else, though,” Martin said equitably, and his gaze flashed to Petra’s briefly before darting away.

“Would I, huh?” Auruo muttered, his blush deepening. “It’s a waste of food. Anyway, weren’t you gonna play something?”

“I was,” Martin said, unruffled, plucking the strings of his violin to test their pitch. “I was thinking it’s an etude kind of evening.”

“Aw fuck. You’re a goddamn bummer tonight, aren’t you?” But Auruo grinned as he spoke. “Gotta assault our ears with that crap.”

She turned to Martin, confused by the response. “Etude?”

Martin opened his mouth to answer, but Auruo beat him to the punch. “They’re not really songs or anything – just weird pieces that’re supposed to teach you something complicated you might not find in real music.”

Martin frowned. “Etudes _are_ real music. They’re important.”

“They’re awful.” Auruo smirked. “They’re like stabbing yourself in the face with the bow.”

“You know, my father would be so disappointed if he knew that I hardly work on the etudes anymore,” Martin said in a fit of pique. “They’ve been passed down in our family for generations. He even wrote a few himself. _I’m_ supposed to write some and pass them down too.”

“Pass them down? To _who?_ " Auruo said derisively. "You planning on getting married anytime soon, huh? You gonna go find some dumb civilian and spawn a few brats with her?”

Catching a glimpse of Martin’s unhappy expression, Petra sank her fist into Auruo’s arm, hard enough that he nearly toppled over. “Don’t be disgusting,” she snapped.

“Ow! Fuck!” Auruo rubbed his arm. “What the hell?!”

She fixed him with her most impressive glare. “If that’s something he wants, then you shouldn’t make fun of him for it.”

“Fuckin’ break me in half, why don’t you?”

“I will if you keep being a jerk!”

“Hey, hey -- it’s fine,” Martin said quickly, holding up his free hand. “It is a little ridiculous.”

“It isn’t,” Petra insisted. “I mean, especially because you’re going to the Garrison, right? They’re allowed to do that.”

“I don’t know if I’m going to the Garrison anymore,” Martin said distantly, and he stared down at the violin in his hands, resolutely plucking the D string. Paired with the dark tone of his voice, it almost made its own kind of music.

She expected Auruo to already have known this, since they were bunkmates and quite close, but instead he stared at his friend with lifted brows. “Since when?”

Martin shrugged, facing them again. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, actually.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been listening to you two talk about the Survey Corps for the last two years,” Martin said without shame or censure. “Honestly. You should hear yourselves.”

Petra stared. “ _Us?”_

“Yes, you. Both of you.” Martin shook his head. “I joined because I thought it’d be good to be a part of the Garrison. I’d make some money so my family can improve our land, and I’d help protect one of the districts. But … I don’t know. Listening to you talking about what it could be like if we lived beyond the Walls,” he trailed off, turning to Auruo, “and listening to you yell at Axel about the cowards trying to get away from the fight. I’ve just been thinking about it.”

“I wasn’t trying to talk you out of Garrison,” said Auruo, looking stricken. “I don’t – I just – I fuckin’ hate those Military Police cowards. I wasn’t –“

“I know,” Martin said gently. “But I’ve been thinking about it anyway. About what you saw when Shiganshina fell, and … well, about you.”

Auruo drew back. “Me?!”

“Yes.” Martin strummed a thoughtful chord. “You dream about it. You have terrible nightmares.”

Auruo made a strangled sound of outrage, shooting an unhappy glance in Petra’s direction. “I – I don’t –!“

“You don’t have to pretend,” Petra cut in. “I know about them too.”

“How?!”

“Because I know you,” she said simply. “For crying out loud, Auruo. Remember when we came back from the last Interim?”

Going by his expression of complete dismay, he did. “Fuck,” he muttered as he ran his fingers through his hair, though the gesture only succeeded in making a few stubborn waves stick straight up. And the sight of him – slouched at her side, so close she could feel the heat of him -- was simultaneously so endearing and exhilarating that for a moment she couldn’t breathe.

“I didn’t bring it up to embarrass you,” Martin said, his tone equitable.

“You didn’t, huh.”

“No. I brought it up because I’ve been thinking about it. You didn’t see the Titans but you heard them kill your neighbors, people you’ve known all your life. And for an afternoon you thought you’d be killed too. I was safe inland, so I can only speculate what that must have been like. But you – both of you – despite it, you’ve decided to put yourself in the path of the Titans permanently, so that what happened never will again. Even though it torments you.”

“You make it sound a lot better than it is,” Auruo said, scowling. “I’m good at this shit. I want to go where I’ll be able to actually fuckin’ kill Titans.”

“Maybe that’s part of it,” Martin agreed.

“Anyway, I don’t know what the fuck this has to do with you joining the Survey Corps.”

Martin strummed another thoughtful chord. “Well … it’s hard not to be convinced by that kind of determination. Even though it’s more than a little crazy.”

“Commandant says the Survey Corps is a haven for crazies and weirdos,” Auruo said, a ghost of a smirk turning his lips. “You want to be one of those crazies?”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Martin said, settling the instrument in the crook of his neck. “I just might.”

He tuned softly, adjusting the slightly discordant tones into the pure sound she’d come to expect from Martin’s violin. Auruo, for his part, studied his worn civilian shoes, picking at a loose thread in the shoelace, his brows furrowed over troubled eyes. But when he met her gaze a quick smile stole across his features, and he ducked his head to hide a flush. And just like always, the sight of it sent a hot flash of feeling through her.

“Hey, asshole.”

“Hm?”

“If you’re going to play one of your shitty etudes, play that one –“ Auruo hid his grin behind his palm, shaking his head. “That fuckin’ thing.”

“Which ‘fuckin’ thing’?”

“That one! You know which one. The one that’s really fast and crazy and your bow is bouncing across the strings. Like shivering, stuttering or something.” He turned to Petra, grinning that excitable grin that made her heart falter and her breath catch in her chest. ‘This goddamn thing is insane. It literally sounds like someone losing their mind, it’s amazing.”

“That does sound like something you’d like,” Petra said dryly.

“Don’t give me that. Martin, come on. Just play the one I’m talking about.”

“I can barely play that one,” Martin said, frowning. “It’s kind of difficult.”

“I thought that was the point of your shitty etudes,” Auruo retorted, smirking. “Learning something you wouldn’t find it real music.”

Martin’s frown deepened into a full-out scowl. “ _Etudes are real music!”_

“So play the crazy man etude that’s also _real music,_ goddammit.” Auruo nudged Martin’s foot with his own. “Don’t be a fuckin’ baby.”

“You know, it’s challenging to launch into the most difficult etude in my collection without warming up at all,” Martin fired back, a little peevishly.

“Aw, does baby need his bottle?”

“Auruo, geez,” Petra cut in. “If he doesn’t want to play it, don’t force him.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m not forcing him to do anything,” Auruo said, and he grinned. “Look at his smug little face. He likes it. He can’t wait to show off. He’s just playing hard to get.”

And sure enough, when Petra turned to study Martin’s expression, she saw a glint of pride in his eyes and a small smile curving his lips, if only just slightly. “Well, fine. If you two are finished, I’ll play the crazy man,” he said with great dignity.

“Please tell me you’re gonna start calling it that!”

“I’ll consider it,” Martin said. “Now be quiet.”

And without preamble, Martin launched into the etude. Petra could hear instantly why Auruo liked it so much, and why it brought Martin such pride to perform; it was a tempest caught between the notes, and folded into the furious progress of Martin’s fingers, which moved with such dexterity that she could not look away. But even more thrilling was the sound that poured from his violin and filled the night. It _was_ a crazy man, a racing man, a man driven by circumstances and desperate enough to scream.

It was the way she felt, wrapped tightly in that furious music. It was too large and hungry for the world they’d been given, and too dear in her eyes to remain in those safe boxes, the place she longed to put him, where they could continue safely without the risk of loss. It was dangerous, risk-fueled music; a pounding heart, a thrilling pulse.

Martin let the last furious chord of the etude trail off into nothing, and she took the opportunity to push away her traitorous thoughts. “That was amazing,” she said, beaming.

“Right?!” Auruo said, and she loved this too; that he wasn’t threatened by Martin’s skill, and instead pride radiated from him like heat. “That crazy thing is my favorite.” He held a hand to his chest. “My heart’s going a mile a minute.”

“Why?! You were just sitting there!” Petra said, rounding on him.

“Are you telling me yours isn’t?!”

It was, in fact. But he didn’t need to know that. “Anyway. Martin. Thank you.”

Martin merely shrugged, his violin still nocked against his neck. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t even start with that false modesty crap, you little shit,” Auruo said indignantly. “I could fuckin’ grind my fingers to the bone practicing and never be able to do that.”

“You might have, if you’d started early,” Martin said equitably. “I’m not a prodigy or anything. I’ve just been playing most of my life.”

“Ugh. _Ugh._ Seriously, just stow that shit, okay? Not everyone can play like that.” Auruo’s flashed him a quick grin. “It’s not arrogant to be practical about what you’re good at.”

“You mean like you are?” Petra cut in, biting back a grin of her own.

“Yeah, smartass. Exactly.” His cheeks colored, and she hated how endearing she found it, how badly she wanted to reach over and squeeze his hand, or perhaps even press her lips to the corner of his mouth. Relish the feel of them against hers.  Dangerous impulses, fueling a pathetic fascination.

They spoke for the rest of the night – Martin pausing every now and then to play more of his lovely music, and the longer she sat at Auruo’s side the harder her stubborn resolution became to hold. Petra did not shy away from struggle or hardship; she’d chosen a life in the most dangerous branch of the military in service to her ideals. And in the same way, she’d swallow what she felt to preserve what she had.

But he turned his face out to the darkness, and she didn’t think about her vow to let him go; instead she wondered desperately what he thought about as the music swirled around them, wondered what furrowed his brow and pulled his lips into a pensive frown. She wondered if he thought about her half as much as she thought about him. And most of all, she wondered what she would have to do to cut this need out of her heart.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE -- those looking for the new chapter as of AUG 6th can find it in the chapter 4 slot! It's a retrospective scene I decided to add. Regular updates resume early next week! :D

Petra hesitated on the threshold of the barracks. Up until this moment, she had almost forgotten her fight with Wil and their furious words exchanged in the heat of temper. She’d had a lovely evening on the porch with Auruo and Martin, listening to the latter spin music so beautiful that it had brought tears to her eyes, so she was not eager to face the confrontation within.

But she was no coward; at least, not when it came to these matters. With a huff of breath, she pushed through the doors and closed them quietly behind her. The room was filled with mild conversation as everyone prepared for sleep, chatting about their peers and discussing the latest frustrations of training. And if anything, Petra was grateful for the clamor, for sitting on her bunk was Wil, just as she’d expected.

But she hadn’t expected the look on Wil’s face.

Gone was her smirking reserve, the disdainful grin that so often graced her otherwise lovely features. Gone was the narrowed gaze and arched brow; instead her eyes were cast to her feet and, Petra noticed with a pang, swollen red. She looked up when she noticed Petra, struggling to rearrange her expression into something more confident and familiar.

“Hey, Petra,” she said. The fact that she in that moment eschewed her favorite nickname ruined what little of Petra’s self-control still remained. Before she could reconsider, she’d crossed the room and taken a seat next to her friend, her dear difficult Wil, who for all her casual disdain possessed more tender places than most.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly, and she gently set her hand on top of Wil’s. “I’m—“

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Wil blurted, her voice hearty and raw, and she flinched away from Petra’s touch. “Just don’t, okay?”

Petra frowned. “But I am sorry. I was – I was impatient and irritated, and I said cruel things to you.”

To her dismay, Wil canted her face in the other direction, and she heard a hard breath hitch in her chest. “Fuck you, Petra. You’re just – you’re completely insane.”

“What?!”

She wouldn’t look at her, but Petra heard her voice trembling. “I said the worst shit to you today. I called you something I know fucks you up. And I used something I know is a sensitive issue, because I wanted to hurt you. I was a fucking deplorable asshole, but you come in here and the first thing you say to me is to ask if I’m alright. To apologize … to _me!”_ She swiped a hard fist across her eyes. “Are you even a real person? I’m – I’m serious. Are you ever pissed or shitty, and not even to people who deserve it, or are you fucking perfect all the time?”

“I’m not perfect,” Petra said, taken aback. “I said awful things too.”

Wil shook her head, lips pursed so tightly that they had gone white. “You didn’t. You just told the truth and I got mad because it was true.”

“But I was cruel with it. You can’t just go blurting out difficult things like that and expect everything to be okay. You have to be kind with them, and I wasn’t.” Petra took Wil’s hands again, squeezed them tightly, so that she would understand. “I _am_ sorry, okay? Don’t do your thing.”

Wil shook her head again. “What thing?”

“Your ‘Don’t look at me because I’m the worst, I’m a horrible fucking monster’ thing,” Petra said, and she couldn’t bite back the smile at Wil’s expression of surprise as the curse between them registered. She was familiar with this – both because she’d known Wil for a close handful of years, and because Auruo often reacted the same way when upset with himself. “I’m serious,” she added. “We were both jerks. Let’s be better about it, okay?”

And to her relief, a tentative smile stole across Wil’s features; at once inscrutable and vulnerable. “Yeah. Alright.” Silence for a moment as she wrestled with something difficult. “I’m sorry, too.”

“How about we put the apologies behind us, now?” Petra asked her kindly. “Unless you want to keep groveling.”

“Shut the fuck up, lamb.” But now Wil grinned in earnest, and Petra knew they were all right. She waited until Wil acquiesced with a half-shrug before throwing her arms around her friend, squeezing her tightly. It had absolutely been a nice evening with Auruo and Martin, but there was no substitute for Wil and there never would be.

They changed into their nightshirts and crawled into Wil's bunk. With the ease of habit, Wil combed through Petra's braid kinked hair with patient, gentle fingers until it streamed down her back in a bright auburn cascade. They curled up on top of the blankets, facing each other. And after a moment -- just as they'd done on difficult nights -- Wil draped one arm over Petra's stomach, poking her at irregular intervals.

"Is it weird to admit I missed you today?" Petra asked.

"Of course you did," Wil said, smirking. "I'm the only light in your life."

"And so modest too."

Wil snorted, poking Petra in the ribs. "It's not weird. It's weird not talking to you."

"Right?" She fidgeted, pulling a stubborn lock of hair out of the back of her nightshirt. "What did you even do all day?"

"Moped," Wil said. "Threw rocks at the younger cadets. Yelled at them."

"You didn't."

Wil smirked, braiding a loose strand of Petra's hair. "I wanted to."

"I appreciate your restraint."

"At least someone does," Wil said. "We need to work on this whole thing; this whole me saying stupid shit thing. If I say anything fucking ridiculous again, we need a code word or something, so all you have to do is say the word and I'll back the fuck off. Like 'belligerence' or 'juggernaut'. Or something."

"'Juggernaut',' Petra said, grinning. “I like that."

"Yeah? Okay. Just scream it in my stupid face if I ever say anything so ridiculously bullshit again, okay? And I'll back off."

Petra was quiet. For a moment she considered keeping her realization to herself, for she didn't want to exacerbate Wil's already tenuous mood. But they'd agreed a long time ago that there would be no secrets between them because secrets led to division, and Wil claimed to have had enough of that in her life. Sighing, Petra smoothed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It wasn't all ridiculous, Wil."

"What?"

"You said that ..." She bit her lip. "You said that it was pathetic. To moon over someone for years and not do anything."

"You know I was just saying that," Wil began hastily. "I was just being an asshole --"

"But you're right."

"Nah, I wasn't," Wil said, shrugging easily. "Fuck, lamb. That whole little thing between you and Boss is a delight. Watching you circle each other. Waiting for it all to happen." She grinned. "It's pretty sweet, actually."

"It's -- it's wrong."

"You don't even really believe that. Look at you -- can't even look at me and say this shit."

"Just because it's hard doesn't mean it's wrong," Petra shot back, irritated. "You were right earlier. It is pathetic. I'm going to be a soldier, and not just any soldier but one of the best. It's not like in the Garrison or the Military Police where you can get married and have a family, because neither of those things will get in the way of your duty. But for a Survey Corps soldier? Where any day could be your last ... where any day could be the one you watch the person you love killed by a Titan. I -- I can't do that."

"Just because you aren't fucking him doesn't mean it's not going to fuck you up if something were to happen to him." Wil arched a brow. "You know a lot of this belly-aching and conflict would be resolved if you two stupid assholes would just join the Military Police with me."

"Wil."

"Yeah, yeah." She sighed. "Can't blame me for trying, though. I'm not exactly keen to hear about you dumb fucks getting splattered."

"You know we'll work to keep that from happening."

"Yeah, I know." Her grin returned in an instant. "Listen to you; talking about yourselves as a 'we'. Like you're a unit already. This whole little resolution of yours is pretty much moot."

"It's a lot different being his friend than actually being involved." Petra frowned. "And this is speculation, anyway. There's no indication whatsoever that he's interested in me. I'm just talking about my feelings and what I'm going to do about them."

"Oh, yeah? And what's that? Cut them out, dig them out of your chest? Dump them down the privy? Goodbye, feelings. Goodbye, heart. Goodbye, everything that makes me Petra."

Petra felt her temper rise. "You think this is a joke."

"I think you're a tenderheart who's loved someone for a long time. And I don't think that's a bad thing."

She took a breath to steel herself. "It is. It's a distraction. He's -- he's a distraction."

"What a load of nonsense. You’re the least distracted person I’ve ever met." Wil said, her eyes wide with an expression Petra did not exactly recognize. Shock failed to cover the odd note of panic in that deep, blue gaze.

Petra shrugged. "Even if that were true, it doesn’t change how I feel about this. Aside from you, he's my closest, oldest friend. And that's how it's going to stay."

"Fuck, Petra; you just ... you just up and decided this because I said it was pathetic?!" Wil was agitated now, her hands curling into anxious shapes. "I was just being an asshole! I was just saying whatever shit I thought would hurt you!"

"But you were right about this. It's childish to plan flaunting the rules, which are so clearly laid down for a reason. And it's childish to think about this at all -- in any capacity. It's ... it's a risk."

"A _risk_?!” Wil blurted. "Of course it's a fucking risk, anything good is a risk."

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," Petra said. Pushed away the thought of Auruo's face looming close, pushed away her need. She would only focus on her resolution, and it was impossible to do so in the face of Wil's negotiating. "Please."

"But -- but ... shit, Petra! You're just --"

"Juggernaut."

Wil froze, her mouth working against the reply she'd silenced for Petra's sake, and the sake of the promise they'd exchanged only minutes earlier. Finally, she ducked her head and heaved a long sigh. "Alright, lamb."

They did not speak again, but even after the lanterns were extinguished Petra sensed that Wil remained awake, staring up at the ceiling, her breathing too quickly paced to be that of sleep.

~ 

Not bothering to contain his bitter scowl, Auruo stood under the stream of freezing water, scrubbing furiously at his scalp and chest. He'd taken the spigot closest to the partition in the back of the room, with his back to the rest of his bathing comrades; the better to be left the hell alone. They laughed and jeered at one another to blunt the discomfort of their brief, bone-chilling showers, but Auruo made no such concessions; he scoured the dirt and sweat from his skin as efficiently as he was able, without talking to anyone.

He was not a fan of bath day. Partly because the baths themselves were awful, partly because after bathing his hair would dry in the most preposterous fashion possible -- curling out in every direction, and kinking out even worse in the back than usual -- and he figured he already looked completely ugly and ridiculous without his stupid hair betraying him.

"You're looking particularly sunny today, Boss," said Axel blithely as he scrubbed under his arms. At his side, Oskar snickered.

"Don't talk to me."

"Aw. You gonna keep up this whole pissy prince thing all day?"

"Yes."

"He won't," Martin supplied, rinsing his hair. "He's just mad because Lukas laughed at him for being skinny."

"I don't give a fuck about Lukas, or what he says," Auruo muttered, though to be honest his pride was still quite wounded. He knew he was skinny. He'd been scrawny his whole life, but he'd always imagined this would change after a few years of hard training. Yet instead of forming the bulk he'd desperately wanted, he'd only become taller and leaner, cursed with the peaky, unhealthy appearance of someone who had grown a lot in a short time, and not yet had the chance to fill out. "I'll be a better soldier than him, anyway."

"You're a better soldier now," Axel agreed. "What was his score on the last course run, anyway? Like three?"

"Yeah."

Axel elbowed him good naturedly. "And what was yours again?"

He wanted to stay pissed more than anything, because it was bath day and _fuck_ bath day, but against his will a grin curved his lips. "Eight."

"The _only_ eight, if I recall."

"Yeah." Even Wil and Petra had scraped sevens, to their disappointment. Auruo wasn't even really sure how he'd managed that eight that time around; Commandant was a notoriously strict evaluator of their performance, and he didn't think he'd done especially well on his run. His time had suffered because he'd yanked Wil out of the path of a trap she hadn't seen, though now that he thought about it some more, maybe that was why the Commandant had been impressed.

"Don't be sensitive about being skinny either, Boss," Axel was saying. "You know the girls like the lean ones."

He craned around to look at the larger boy. "What?!"

"It's true. You should hear them talk."

"When the fuck would I have the opportunity for that?" Auruo demanded, incredulous. "It's not like I know a bunch of goddamn girls to ask their opinion."

"You should just trust me on it, then," Axel said. "They like the lean ones. _Lithe_. Gets them all excited."

"I doubt it."

"Yeah, well, I think I'm in a better position to know than you," Axel said, a little smug.

"That so, huh? Get a lot of complaints from the girls you fuck?"

To his credit, Axel refused to acknowledge this. He fixed Auruo with a serious expression, so unfamiliar that it almost rendered him a stranger. "Maybe one of these days you'll figure out that I have no reason to lie you to."

"But you do lie."

"I don't lie to my friends," Axel said. "And despite yourself, you're my friend."

Auruo faced the sputtering spigot again, rising the soap out of his hair and blinking the cold water out of his eyes. This hadn't changed either; his general discomfort with emotional truths. "Thanks. I guess."

"Don't mention it," Axel said, sunny again. "And besides, if you wanted to hear girls talk, all you have to do is shut up for a minute."

"What the fuck are you talking about now?"

Axel held his fingers to his lips pointing to the partition that separated the men's and women's baths. There were no windows, of course; the people who had built this place knew that teenagers would be using the facility, and they weren't stupid. But there was a vent leading to the other bath, arranged in such a way that when Auruo shut his mouth and strained to listen, he could hear the girls on the other side of the partition, giggling and squealing as they jumped in and out of the freezing water.

Specifically, he could hear Wil and Petra.

"I hate bath day," Wil was moaning. "I hate the cold. I hate everything."

"I think it's kind of refreshing," Petra said.

 _She would_ , Auruo thought.

For half a second the situation was manageable. It wasn't that he'd forgotten that Petra was desperately beautiful and probably would be even more so naked, but he'd managed to keep himself more or less under control. But then he really started thinking about Petra on the other side of the barrier -- cold water sliding off her freckled skin, her hair cascading down her back, hands trailing from her neck to her breasts -- and suddenly he couldn't think about anything but getting the fuck out of there, preferably to somewhere dark and quiet that would allow him to calm the fuck down.

And then, confirmation of the worst sort: "Fuck you, lamb," said Wil.

"What?!"

"I ever tell you that you have the most perfect tits?"

He heard no sigh, but Petra's tone was long suffering. "You've mentioned it once or twice."

"I'm serious, though! I'm flat as a sheet, and here you are binding down the most amazingly lush tits. Depriving the world of them! I'm fucking jealous. Green with envy."

"You're awful is what you are."

Wil made no reply, but Auruo could guess what happened next by Petra's squeal of laughter. He snatched his towel from the rack and wrapped it tightly around his waist, ignoring Axel's delighted expression. "What'd I tell you, huh?" the larger boy crowed; under the impression that Auruo had just been given a gift and not another means of torture.

"Yeah," Auruo muttered as he shoved past, intent on his clothes and a vacation from his brain. "Great."

~

Every two weeks or so, the trainees were gifted a day of freedom to do whatever the pleased, and their only requirement was to bathe and rest in preparation for the next grueling stretch of training. On this particular day of rest, Auruo had received no indication that it would be any different than the previous stretch of them; aside from the shower incident, it progressed as they often did. They had a rich lunch and light dinner, Martin performed one of his many poorly attended concerts, and the six of them paced the perimeter of camp, trading barbs and jokes with practiced ease as the light grew low and cicadas sang for dusk.

If he'd been paying attention, he'd have noticed Wil break off sometime after dinner, tugging lightly on Axel's sleeve. He'd have made note of their quick, intense conversation, and the uncharacteristic seriousness of their expressions as they conferred. He should have known; should have seen it coming. They were planning something.

As it was, he had no reason to expect shenanigans. No special reason, anyway.

And besides, he was distracted. He'd put thoughts from the morning well behind him, but when faced with Petra his self-control often came to nothing. She was gorgeous in the summer; a new smattering of light freckles scattered across her cheekbones and nose, and the sun made golden streaks in her copper hair. There'd been one moment when she'd turned to him and smiled, dying sunlight in her hair, and he hadn't been able to breathe.

That night most of the older trainees filed into the common room for the usual diversions; games and songs and gossip. The six of them sat in their usual corner, with Axel's fanclub perched in the various spaces behind him, playing the most fucked up game of Wall and Blade Auruo had ever suffered. For a moment he thought he finally had that smug, smirking bastard sitting across from him beat, but one look at Martin's cards and he knew it was over.

"Fuck," he groaned. "How do you always win this shit?"

"It's a game of strategy," Martin said equitably, collecting his cards. "You can't just blunder in headfirst. You have to think ten moves ahead."

"It's a goddamn card game."

"Don't be a sore loser, Boss," Wil said, throwing her elbow into his ribs. "Let the adorable Martin have his day."

Martin colored at this, shrugging in an attempt to pass off his reaction. "He can complain, it's nothing," he said, then smirked. "Winning is more fun when he throws a fit."

"I like you more and more every day," Wil said, flashing him her trademark quicksilver grin.

"You guys are assholes," Auruo muttered. "Fuckin' perfect for each other."

He'd been about to suggest a rematch when Axel slowly acquired a look that he'd learned to fear; one that was all mischief and mayhem, one that served as a portent of shenanigans to come. "Say, Wilhelmina."

"What is it, Axel?" she replied, for once not throwing a fit about her full name; clearly in on the act.

"I think we should play something else, don't you agree?"

"I do, actually," said Wil, that same mischievous glint surfacing in her shrewd gaze. "Something where everyone can participate." She nodded to Axel's fanclub, who pretended not to be excited by this development.

"What an excellent idea," Axel said, canting his head over his shoulder and grinning at no one in particular. "But whatever should we play?"

"Now, that is the question," Wil said, and she framed her pointed chin between her thumb and forefinger. "Hm. A quandary, indeed."

"What are you guys doing?" Petra asked slowly, her brow arching into her hairline. "You're acting weird."

"We're just trying to think of something more fun," Axel said innocently.

"More fun than watching me get my ass beat?" Auruo cut in; this was usually one of their favorite pastimes, and he couldn't understand why they were suddenly so averse to spending the rest of the evening doing so.

"Infinitely more fun," Axel said.

"Not everything revolves around you, Boss," Wil added.

"I didn't say that it did!"

"Hush," Wil chastised him as she tapped her chin. "When's the last time we played Seven Minutes in the closet?"

"I think you mean Seven Minutes in Heaven," Axel corrected her with a sly grin. Behind him, a cluster of girls leaned their heads together, whispering and giggling softly.

"No, I'm pretty sure it's a closet."

"I'm not playing that," Auruo said. "Nope. Count me out."

Axel shot him a hurt frown, like he was actually offended that Auruo didn't want to play another stupid kissing game. But the way he saw it, he'd managed two and a half years avoiding these ridiculous rituals, and he wasn't about to allow that record be broken tonight. Especially because the chance that he'd be able to kiss the person he actually wanted to kiss was practically zero, and he could think of nothing more awkward and disgusting than kissing anyone else.

"You always back out," Will accused him. "But you don't get to back out tonight."

"I don't, huh?"

"No. You're going to sit in the circle with everyone and when your name is drawn you're going to kiss the goddamn person you're supposed to, you miserable shit."

"Miserable shit!?" he spluttered, but before he could yell at her Petra touched his arm. He jumped when that horrible, familiar rush of feeling flooded through him, the one that made his hands shake and his heart race.

"Don't get upset," she told him softly as the rest of the trainees jotted down their names on scraps of loose paper Axel had produced somehow; probably from another one of Oskar's heists.

"Why not?! I don't want to do this shit!"

"You probably won't have to. We only have a half hour before curfew, anyway," she said, shrugging. "That means there's only time for five pairs. And there's more than ten people here."

She was right; there were easily twenty girls eagerly dumping their prettily signed names into a jar Wil had found, casting Axel furtive, hopeful glances as they did so. Auruo relaxed slightly; it was a gamble, but slim odds that he'd get out of this stupid game unscathed were better than none. "I guess you're right," he said.

"I'm not really excited about this either," she said as she jotted her name on a scrap of paper and dumped it in the jar. He followed suit, scrawling 'Fuck You' on his scrap and cramming it to the very bottom. "Some of the people here are kind of ..."

He rounded on her, delighted. "Kind of _what_ , Petra?!"

"Nothing," she mumbled. "I mean they can't help it. It's mostly my problem."

"Now you really have to tell me."

She seemed to consider for a moment before leaning close, and her breath warmed his ear. He shivered. "Some of them are kind of gross. Not like physically, but they're just gross people."

"You would be bothered by that," he agreed.

"And you're not?!"

"Everything bothers me," he mumbled. _Except you_. "Who's the gross asshole you're dreading?"

"I'm not going to name names!" Petra said, scandalized.

"Come on."

"No!"

"I can't believe you don't trust your oldest, most wonderful friend," he teased. "I'm crushed."

"I'm sure," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's no one of consequence, and probably no one you've ever bothered to know, either."

"What're you saying? I'm some kind of antisocial weirdo, is that it?"

"You're a little forbidding," she said, trying not to smile. "Unapproachable."

"Yeah, well. Not to people who are worth anything," he muttered.

She sighed after a moment, craning close again, and he both craved and feared the proximity of her. He feared his reaction, which grew more difficult to keep invisible every time he was forced to suppress it. "It's Lukas."

Auruo couldn't help the vindictive pleasure at this development, especially after this morning. "Ha! Fuck that guy."

She bit her lip against a grin at his response. "He's not very kind. The other day he put a wasp in Johanna's hair; not to get her attention but because making her cry amused him."

Auruo hadn't heard about this. "What an asshole," he snarled under his breath. "If you get paired up with him, I'll knock him out."

"If I get paired up with him, _I’ll_ be the one knocking him out," Petra replied with her familiar fire. And he loved her for it.

After a brief fanfare, the game commenced. Wil and Axel sat side by side in the back of the room, to the left of the closet door; the former with the jar on her lap, the latter craning in to fish out scraps of paper and reciting the names with great showmanship. The two lucky (or unlucky, as the case might be) lovers would then be yanked to the front of the room and unceremoniously shunted into the broom closet for roughly seven minutes. No one actually had a functional timepiece so it was mostly an estimate done by Wil, who didn't necessarily have the best internal clock out of everyone in the room, but she spoke with the most authority on the matter, so her word was largely accepted.

He sat beside Petra and watched the drama unfold. He wouldn't call himself an active student of humanity, despite his grudging decision to protect it, but he couldn't deny a certain vague interest in the spread of reactions as the game unfolded. Some blushed, some shrugged and laughed. One girl took a look at her partner and promptly hiccupped; and everyone could hear her hiccupping from inside the closet, only obscured by Axel when he lost the battle against his obnoxious laughter.

Auruo hugged his knees to his chest, chewed the corner of his tongue, and prayed to the god he wasn't sure he believed in; that his name wouldn't be chosen, and if it was he wouldn't get fucking hiccups all over his goddamn partner.

"You look sick," Petra said, shooting him a worried look.

"Dinner's not agreeing with me," he mumbled, and he dropped his gaze to his worn shoes.

"I think you're stressed."

"I'm not."

"Yeah, you are. There’s a muscle flickering in your jaw."

"You looking at my jaw?!" he blurted, annoyed.

Her worried gaze turned incredulous. "It's hard not to notice. Stop chewing on your tongue, okay? One of these days you're going to bite it off."

"You'd probably like that."

"I might!" But she grinned. "Just calm down. It's almost curfew."

He wasn't superstitious in the least; he bred healthy skepticism for Martin's flights of devout terror, the fervent prayers that he muttered when times were hard and things took the sharp edge of risk. But even he knew, the moment you thought you were in the clear was the moment you got the rug pulled out from under your feet.

He'd been about to smile when Axel called out a name that stopped his heart. "Petra Ral! Petra, come on up," he said kindly, beckoning her to the back of the room, where the closet loomed behind. And as he watched Petra shakily get to her feet and stride away, Auruo suddenly had to contend with something he was too stupid and stressed to consider; that her name could be called, and he'd have to sit out here while some random fucking jackass pawed at her in a dark closet. He'd have to try not to gouge holes in his palms from clenching his fists too hard, and when it was all over, he'd have to smile like it didn't bug him in the least, though at the moment he couldn't think of anything that bothered him more.

A thousand years of furious speculation spooled out in his mind when Axel called the second name: "And ... Fuck You! Is there a 'Fuck You'? in the house?"

Snickering from the crowd. Wil's expression was one of diabolical delight. "You know, I think that sounds like something Boss would write. Don't you?"

"Yes, I think you're right, Wilhelmina," said Axel, mirroring her grin. "Boss! Get up here."

Auruo couldn't breathe. Was he breathing? The room suddenly seemed airless and silent, and a dull ringing took the place of voices as he vaguely got to his feet and floated to the back of the room. "This -- this is stupid," he ground out, struggling for any semblance of his usual affectations, anything that wouldn't give him away. But Axel shoved him into the closet with that damned knowing smile, and he even had the fucking gall to wink at the two of them, crammed entirely too close in a space hardly bigger than a privy.

"Have fun, kids," he said, pushing the door shut.

For a stunned moment, neither Auruo nor Petra said anything; who knew why Petra couldn't, but he knew that if he tried to speak an embarrassing wheeze would leave his mouth instead. He couldn't breathe -- he couldn't fucking breathe, and he was getting light-headed, and Petra was so close that he could feel her breathing against his live skin, feel her trembling in this miracle space. 

"Well ..." she whispered.

"Nice work," he managed. "I thought you said neither of us would get chosen."

Her temper flared to life instantly; almost a physical presence in this tiny closet. "I said it _wasn’t likely,”_ she snapped.

"Well, how about that. We beat the odds, nag. We're a regular fuckin' inspiration."

"Just -- shut up for a minute." She let out a tight breath, and he felt it warm his neck. "You're not making this any easier."

"Oh, well I'm sorry this is such a bitter disappointment!" he shot back, hurt by the snub and inching closer to hysteria by the second. "Sorry I'm not Axel or Martin or whatever!"

"Yeah, you know; they'd probably handle this stupid arrangement without being ridiculous!"

He spluttered incoherently, unsure at which word to take the most offense. Before he could manage a reply, she grazed his arm with her fingers -- entirely by accident, but he flinched away, and he saw a flash of hurt cross her expression. Oh -- she thought --? He couldn't breathe.

"Look, I know you're ... not good with this stuff. Touching. I mean it's not a big deal. Or -- or it shouldn't be a big deal." She wrinkled her nose, gave a little shake of her head. "That's not what I -- god. I'm saying I understand this is probably the last thing you wanted to do today."

He stared at her, studying her dimly lit features from the light streaming under the closet door. She had no idea. He didn't know whether to be pleased or dismayed that he'd done his job so well that she had absolutely no idea how deeply he adored her, how desperately he wanted her, and how his desire ruined everything the moment she got too close.

"It's not a big deal," he echoed stupidly. "Yeah."

"And --- please, just calm down," she said. "I'm not going to force myself on you or anything."

"I d-didn't think you would?!" he stammered. _God, if she would …_

"Okay," she said. "Okay."

Tense silence. He could feel her breathing. Was he breathing? He didn't feel like he was breathing. Fuck.

"You know ..." she started, and he caught a flash of her grin.

"What?"

"We could make it look like we'd been kissing," she said, a little sly, like it was some big trick.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Just listen to them out there. They're laughing about it, laughing at us. So we come out all mused and breathless and whatever, so they'll think we'd been kissing, but we'll know that it was a trick. We'll be the only ones who know the truth. Just the two of us."

And instantly he was enchanted with the idea. He wouldn't deny being slightly disappointed that there'd be no actual kissing, but in a weird way it loosened the hard knot of anxiety in his chest, and he felt like he could breathe for the first time since Axel had shoved him in here. She wasn't interested. And he wasn't going to ruin the longest, most meaningful friendship of his life because he was stupid and horny, because he'd had the bad luck to go and get some stupid crush on his best friend. "That's perfect," he grinned. "Fuckin' assholes, they'll deserve it."

"Exactly," she said, her sly smile widening.

Another pause. He swallowed hard. "So, uh ... how do we ...?"

She seemed to steel herself, then. "Come here."

"How much closer to you can I get?! I'm practically right on top of you," he retorted before he could stop himself. Stupid, fucking fool; in the instant the words left his mouth, visions of actually being on top of her filled his mind, heady with possibility -- the feel of her beneath him, so small, her hands in his hair ...

"Calm down," she said, and he could hear the arch-browed incredulity of her expression in her voice. It took him a moment to understand she was reacting to his words and not the shameful contents of his thoughts. "Just crane down a little. You're a lot taller than I am."

"How about you find something to stand on, you tiny nag?"

_"Auruo.”_

"Fine, fine. Geez." He crouched a little, and despite himself he smirked at her. "You just want me to get on my knees or something?"

"That shouldn't be necessary," she said, rolling her eyes. "God, Auruo. Are you determined to be as difficult about this as possible?"

"I don't even know what _this_ is!"

"Please just --"

"If you tell me to calm down one more fuckin' time --"

_"Auruo!”_

Part of him just wanted to kiss her to shut her the hell up. But he obeyed, craning down until his head was a little closer to her level, until she could have twined her arms around his shoulders and kissed him anyway, despite her promises otherwise. He was stupid, fucking stupid, and he was hoping for it. Just a little. But instead of reaching up to kiss him, she threaded her slim fingers through his hair.

"Wh- ...?" he managed. He was shaking again, trembling under her hands, because he'd had no chance to prepare for how good it felt to be touched by her in this way. "What are you doing?"

"Messing up your hair," she said, grinning again, but this time it lacked the sly edge; this time it was earnest as he'd ever seen it, and the sight nearly stopped his heart completely. "If I was kissing you for real, I'd probably do this."

"You would, huh ..." he said, then scrambled for something dumb to say so she wouldn't hear him imagining it. "I always knew you were a fuckin' brat."

"Just calm--"

"I swear to GOD, stop telling me to calm down --!"

 _“FINE!”_ He felt her fingers tighten against his scalp, and before he could say another word she'd yanked hard enough to elicit a yelp of pain from him.

"FUCK," he blurted, biting hard on the edge of his tongue and swallowing the blunt taste of blood. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"You're pissing me off!" she retorted. "What's gotten into you today?!"

He only stopped himself from yelling _YOU_ by the skin of his teeth. "I dunno, Petra; maybe it's got something to do with me being crammed in this lousy goddamn closet with you and you yanking on my goddamn hair and telling me to calm down every two fuckin' seconds, and I'm having trouble breathing and today's been weird, and I just --"

"Alright, alright," she said, placating now. "Just --"

"Are you fuckin' kidding me -?!"

"I wasn't going to tell you to calm down, you idiot!," she snapped. "I was going to say I'm sorry. So ... I'm sorry." She ran her fingers more gently through his hair now, and suddenly he wasn't sure if he didn't prefer the pain of a rough touch. And he'd been looking -- he couldn't look away, not even when she was pissing him off -- so he saw that earnest smile slowly resurface, lit by the dim light of the room beyond their closet.

"What're you grinning about now?"

"It's just ..." She paused, considering.  "Your hair's really soft."

"What?!"

"It is!" She twisted her fingers more deeply in his hair, her nails dragging lightly along the tender skin of his scalp, and he shivered again. "It's kind of wavy and curly up top ... just really thick and soft."

And oddly, for the first time in his life, he found himself liking his ridiculous hair. "This isn't the first fuckin' time you've ever touched it."

"But I've never really been able to do this," she said softly. "Too bad you're weird about touching; I'd do this every day."

 _God, I wish you would ..._ "Yeah, well ... we can't get everything we want," he said, swallowing hard.

She worked for a few more moments, and he was caught by warring impulses; the fear of his failing control as she touched him with such light fingers, and the need for her to keep doing so, for her to touch him like this every day of their lives. When she drew away, he registered the loss with regret. "There," she said, satisfied. "You look thoroughly rumpled."

"Alright," he said, lightly touching his mused hair, feeling vague and punch drunk.

"Don't smooth it down! I'll have to mess it up again," she chastised him.

"I wasn't gonna!" he fired back. "Geez. How about I rumple you up, now?"

She froze. "What?"

"What do you mean 'what'? Were we just gonna get me all messed up?"

"No, I just --"

"It's not a big deal," he reminded her. He figured if he repeated it enough times, the words would become true. "Unless you don't want -"

"Why wouldn't I?" she said in a huff. "You're right. It's not a big deal." She squared her shoulders and looked up at him, the dim light catching in her wide amber eyes, and he couldn't breathe again. "I am yours to rumple."

 _Fuck_ ..."R-right," he managed. His heart was pounding. Is this what a heart attack felt like? It must be. He was having a heart attack. He was going to die in a closet, with his stupid friends and comrades laughing on the other side of the door. He was going to die less than an inch away from his best friend, this sunlight girl that had enchanted him so horribly for half his life, and he'd never summon the desire or get the chance to tell her any of this. To see if it might have --

"Right," he said again, struggling to get a handle on his stupid reaction. "Just -- here."

Gently, as if he were handling glass and not a flesh and bone girl, he pulled at the binding of her braid and combed his fingers through those silky strands; something he had wanted to do nearly as long as he'd wanted to do anything with her. And it was just as he'd thought; her hair was as soft as her skin.

"Don't mess it up too badly," she said -- a little breathlessly, he thought.

"Isn't that the point?"

"Yeah, but it's a little harder for me to deal with tangled hair than it is for you," she replied with a bit of her old temerity. "It takes me ages to work out knots."

"Why not just cut it, then?"

"Because I like having it long," she said. "I like my hair."

"Alright, alright," he said. "I didn't mean to cast aspersions on your goddamn hair."

"Didn't you?"

"No! Geez, Petra. You have nice hair." He mused it for emphasis, his shaking fingers buried deep. "I mean -- it's...it's beautiful."

He froze, closed his eyes, and wished the earth would sunder and swallow him whole. She wasn't speaking; he could feel the rigid line of her as she froze too, and he knew it had to be from revulsion -- that he would dare touch her, and say something so stupidly bald and true, but before he could curse himself any further she looked up at him, and he saw something he did not recognize in her eyes. Something he had no words for yet, on some instinctual level, understood.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"How the fuck don't you know this, anyway?" he continued, and he couldn’t help but to be slightly encouraged by her thanks.

"I didn't know that's what _you_ thought."

He craned down to look at her, searching her expression for the joke, but it seemed as if she was serious. He couldn't fathom this; he felt as if everything he did and said served as obvious affirmation, yet she didn't seem to have any idea how much he adored her, or how deeply she affected him. And she wasn't stupid -- in fact she was the furthest thing from stupid -- so he wondered how she could have missed this.

"Well, it is," he said, rumpling her hair with greater urgency now. "Geez."

He saw her throat working. "Why are you even doing this, anyway?"

"What do you mean 'why'?

"I mean exactly what it sounds like! It makes more sense for me to do it to you because you have shorter hair."

He couldn't help the incredulous retort. "I'm doing this 'cause if I was fuckin' kissing you, I'd be fuckin' hands deep in your hair! I thought that was the point."

"...You would?"

"Yeah, I would. Fuck." He drew his trembling hands away and let them drop limply at his sides. "I thought this was your idea."

"It was," she said with a bit of her old fire. "Just shut up."

"You're in rare fuckin' form today, nag. I didn't even say anything stupid!"

"Everything you're saying is stupid!" she snapped. "You know what? If I was kissing you, I'd do this."

Before he could prepare himself or interject otherwise, she'd grabbed him by the waist of his pants and yanked him close, until they were pressed chest to chest, hips to hips; close enough that he'd be able to feel her heart beating, and she'd be able to feel his. He saw surprise flit across her features -- maybe she hadn't thought the through, maybe she hadn't anticipated the nearness of him -- but it didn't matter now. This was the moment, as he felt himself drawing closer, that he realized it was inevitable.

He couldn't speak or breathe, or even react. He could only watch her as she reached up again, her shaking fingers pulling clumsily at the top two buttons of his shirt. When they grazed his chest, just below his neck, sweeping tentatively to his shoulder and back, he felt the world funnel violently into this moment. He forgot the world outside; there was only his need, and the breath of space between them.

"Wh-what are you doing?" he said hoarsely.

"Rumpling you," she whispered. Swallowed, took another step closer. He felt her breasts graze his chest, and thought about that morning in the shower, listening to her on the other side. "It's not a big deal."

What _lies_ they told themselves. And he allowed it. He needed it.

Where she'd been tentative, he was not. He was rough and desperate, in only the way someone inexperienced can be. She'd plucked at the buttons of his shirt, and he nearly ripped hers from their stitches in his haste. And he knew this; she did not flinch away or catch his hands and force them down. Instead, her lips parted and he heard her breath hitch, felt it in this close space, and thought the sound of it would rip him to pieces.

"If I was kissing you, I'd do this," he gasped, his shaking hands moving to rip the ends of her blouse from her skirt, and he wasn't thinking now -- if he'd been thinking he'd have stopped himself, but now he moved without his own permission. He slipped under her shirt and gripped the dip of her waist, thumbing the smooth skin of her stomach -- and god, she was so small, yet he could feel lean muscle shifting under his hands as she melted into his touch.

"A-Auruo," she breathed -- so close he could feel the warmth of the word on the bare places she'd exposed. "I'd ... do this." Slid her hands up his chest, fingers twisting hard in the fabric of his shirt. Holding on for dear life. And now his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, so he could see everything; her eyes pleading, her lips drawing him in, even the new freckles scattered across her cheekbones like stars.

He cupped her face, and didn't care that now she would know beyond any shadow of a doubt that he needed this, that he needed her, almost more than he could bear. He swept his thumb across her cheek, held her there because he didn't yet trust himself not to screw up somehow. He'd never done this before. He had no fucking idea what he was doing. But she'd melted against him, and every nerve in his body was singing from the sheer pleasure of contact, and he knew that if he didn't kiss her right this fucking second he would lose his mind.

"I'd do this," he whispered. Shaking. They were both shaking; he wasn't imagining it. Was he imagining the way she looked at him as she shivered in his arms? Had he misjudged? Was this fear, instead of desire? He didn't know what he was doing. He had no fucking clue what he was doing. Don't screw up, don't --

He closed the last semblance of distance between them and hesitated for only a second, just enough to gauge her response. And when he heard her breath hitch again, felt her shudder against him, he knew that he had not misjudged. That she needed this too. So he brought his lips to hers.

At first, it was tentative, almost gentle. He was shaking, she was shaking; both of them trembling almost too badly for the contact to register. Sensory input came to him in odd flashes: the feel of her hands on his chest, and the impossible, incredible softness of her lips. But then something broke in him -- the last fraying reserves of his control -- and an instinct he didn't know he possessed took over. He deepened the kiss and she moaned into his mouth, her fingers tightening in his shirt, and the sound of it sent a spike of arousal coursing through him, straight to his groin. The shock of it was so sudden that he drew away with a rough gasp.

"Are you --?" she whispered.

"I'm --"

Silence. They stared at each other. Still shaking, still needing. He couldn't break away, and he didn't think she would be able to either. "It's not a big deal," she reminded him, her tone pleading.

And he took her words as the confirmation he needed, the only confirmation in the world. It wasn't a big deal -- yes, not a big deal. But it felt big as he kissed her again, as her lips parted against his and her gasps sent fire racing through his veins, as one of her perfect hands threaded back into his hair. It felt like everything. When she arched against him, he slid his hand from her waist to the small of her back, fingers splayed. Pressing her close, because now he could not stand any distance between them. He was presented with the lovely, intoxicating sum of her, and he simply did not have enough hands, or enough time.

In some distant corner of his mind, he wished he was better at this -- wished that he could touch her with skill and finesse; instead, all he really had going for him was need. They bumped noses and clicked teeth, and when he moved to kiss her a little too enthusiastically, he smashed his nose (stupid) against her cheekbone, hard enough to elicit a small sound of surprise from her. And for one heart-stopping second he thought he'd ruined everything, but then she laughed breathlessly and kissed him again, and as her lips moved from his to the corner of his mouth he heard himself laugh too.

"Calm down," she breathed against his skin. Grinning. That fucking brat.

"I swear to god," he growled. Before he could think, he wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her-- her hitched breath hot against his mouth, and god, she was so small, so perfect; she fucking drove him and pushed him, and he needed it. He pinned her against the wall with a hard gasp, but far from outdone she grabbed him by the collar of the shirt and yanked him down to her level, her kiss searing him to his bones.

He was breathing hard. He had no idea what he was doing. His heart was beating so fast that he feared that it'd beat right out of his chest. And Petra's eyes were bright, hair mused, her lips swollen from kissing; breathing just as hard. When he thought he could bear no more, she'd drive him again. Just when he thought he'd managed to wrestle haphazard control of himself, her fingers danced over the waist of his pants again, slipping up under his shirt as he had done only a moment ago, trailing fire over his bare skin.

"Petra ..." he moaned. Brief flashes of cognizant thought broke through the haze of his terrible desire, but they soon vanished as the feel of her hands registered, as the feel of everything pulled him deeper down, to where they was no chance of return. And for someone so small, there was too much of her -- too fucking much ... unthinkingly, his hand dropped from her cheek to cup her breast, and _fuck_ \-- it was better than he'd imagined, better than --

The door flew open. "Time's up, perverts!"

They broke apart and froze. Harsh light flooded the closet, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust well enough to see that it was Axel and Wil in the doorway, and behind them the room was completely empty. He blinked, stunned. The world rushed at him and retracted, like the snap of a whip.

"Where --?"

"Yeah, you guys took so long that the Commandant called curfew. You were in there for like a half hour. We had to hide and come back for you," Wil explained easily. "Have fun?"

Petra started to shake. He stared. Thoughts clunked slowly to life in his concussed brain. "I -- you ...?"

Petra recovered first. "Good night," she said in a strange voice. He watched odd horror bloom across her features, and the realization hit him like a slap. Before he could say anything or apologize or salvage this quickly souring situation, she'd weaved around Axel and tore from the room, slipping into the darkness outside with Wil quick on her heels.

He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. Was he having a heart attack? He must be -- this must be what a heart attack felt like. He dropped his frozen hands to his sides, fists clenching once before relaxing. And only then did Axel crane over to look at him. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, his brows knitted in real concern.

Auruo slowly met his gaze; filled with vague dismay as images from the last half hour spun frantically through his mind. What he’d revealed to her, what he’d laid pathetically bare. And even worse, what he’d done.

 


	18. Chapter 18

Petra tore from the common hall and into the darkness. Her heart cut an unsteady shape against her ribs, and she lifted one hand to her chest in a futile attempt to restrain its frantic pace.

"Hey!" Wil called. "Hold up, will you?"

Petra walked faster. Her limbs buzzed with unspent energy and a shiver rippled up her spine, though the night was quite warm. Her breath hitching hard, she broke into a half jog, the hem of her skirt whipping around her calves, but it still was not enough. She was fast -- faster than everyone she knew -- but not fast enough to outrun what she had done. What _they_ had done. Flashes of it spun behind her eyelids, the culmination crashing through her thoughts with such visceral violence that she finally had to stop and catch her balance against the side of the barracks.

 _His hands_ , she remembered, chasing over the bare skin of her waist before gripping tightly, thumbs sweeping over her stomach. She’d been staggered by the sense of his desperate need the moment she pulled him close in a pique of temper, the way it had almost seemed to singe the air between them, and how quickly she had met it with need of her own. And then his lips were everywhere, and he had moaned her name, pressed it to the tender skin of her neck, whispered against her ear.

And she'd wanted more.

Bursts of detail now; his wavy hair brushing her brow as he moved to kiss the corner of her mouth. Her feet leaving the ground as he’d lifted her, pinned her against the wall, his gasp searing down her shivering bones. His hands trembling as they cupped her face. And –

The feel of him stirring between her legs, pressing against her thigh.

She couldn't breathe.

"Fuck, Petra," Wil said, clutching her knees and panting for breath. "You're fucking fast, you know that?"

Petra did not answer. She’d lost her voice sometime in the span of the last hour (or had it been a moment? An entire year? She couldn’t know) and the last thing she wanted was to humiliate herself more than she already had tonight.

Wil peered at her, one brow arching. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

 _Good question._ She'd spent the last few days coming to terms with her decision to leave this nonsense firmly behind. It had been easy to make this declaration because she’d assumed he couldn’t possibly care for her in the way that she cared for him. But now she saw how wrong she had been – at the least, he wanted her. She’d felt the evidence of that fact in every taut line of him, and in the desperate way he’d kissed her, as if he’d known nothing but need all his life.

“I’m fine,” Petra whispered, swallowing hard. “I’m – it’s nothing.”

Wil arched a brow, unconvinced. "You know, you guys surprised me. I thought you'd sit in the closet like stubborn, stupid children and pout.”

“We’re not stupid children.”

“You sure?”

“I’m …” The word caught in the back of her throat, and she fell silent, swallowing hard.

Wil’s eyes narrowed. “You’re acting like he did something unforgivably horrible.”

No, not unforgivably. And it hadn’t been horrible; that was the problem. Trembling, Petra bit her lip and slid down the side of the building, hugging her knees tightly to her chest.  

“Can you tell me what the hell is going on!? Did he hurt you? Because if he did I might have to kill him.”

“Wil, no. For crying out loud. Of course he didn’t hurt me.”

“So why are you acting like this?”

Petra couldn’t answer at first, for she hardly knew herself. And as the silence grew longer, she watched understanding coalesce in Wil’s deep eyes. With a sigh, she plopped down next to Petra and slung her arm around Petra’s shoulders, pulling her close.

“Spit it out,” she said, but gently. “Otherwise you’ll go crazy.”

“I kissed him,” Petra whispered.

“And you liked it.”

She nodded miserably.

“You’re having a crisis over what should be pretty fucking simple.”

“There’s nothing simple about this,” Petra said, leaning slightly against Wil’s sturdy shoulder.

“You know, everyone thinks that. Everyone thinks their situation is the most complicated, labyrinthine series of circumstances ever to happen to a pair of people, when really when you look at it from the outside, it’s easy.”

“How is it easy?”

“Well, let’s lay this out in simple terms. You love him. He loves you. And don’t argue with me, lamb; I’ve had about enough of that. He does. Seems like this incredibly simple situation has an outstandingly simple solution; put your anxiety aside, fly into his arms, and … I don’t know. Do whatever it is you want to do with each other.” Wil shot her a slightly wicked grin. “Or _to_ each other.”

She didn’t know if he loved her. But for a second, she thought about it. (And not only because her lips were still swollen from the fierceness of his need). For the first time since she’d become aware of this, she wondered if perhaps it could be so simple; she could take his hand and kiss him again, and from that moment they would proceed as lovers. It would be as thrilling as their first kiss; she knew that without needing confirmation. It would be fast and tender and desperate, and everything she could want in another. She knew it in some deep place.

The thought quickly grew intoxicating, as heady as his touch. She knew him better than she knew anyone, and he knew her in the same way. And this would be so lovely; it would be something she’d always wanted but never known enough about herself to explicitly articulate. They would bicker as always, and confer and conspire, but there would be an added resonance to everything that passed between them, a significance she did not yet understand but ached to.  She could reach out and kiss him the moment the impulse arose, or trail her fingers up his arm, toy with the waist of his pants. She could push him down, crawl into his lap and grind circles above him until he shuddered, until he gasped her name, and she moaned his …

It could be so easy, and so wonderful. But the fanciful speculation faded, quickly replaced by cold reality; things she knew to be true, and things she knew to fear. They weren’t normal people. They were soldiers, or would be in just a few months. There were regulations that they had to obey, set in place specifically because the life in the Survey Corps was a dangerous occupation.

And not only that …

She didn’t want to talk about this. She didn’t want to think about it. She was going to be a soldier and she had to think of that. So from within the swirling mess of worries in her thoughts, she chose to use the one that Wil would heed, the one that would strike closest to home.

“It isn’t easy,” she said again, rubbing her thumb against the inside of her arm.

“Lamb, I fucking swear –“

“It isn’t. Tell me,” she said before Wil could cut her off. “Tell me about Axel again.”

Will understood instantly; her deep eyes widened and the arm around Petra’s shoulder went stiff before dropping between them. “That doesn’t have anything to do with anything.”

“You were friends,” Petra continued. “Like Auruo and I were, right?”

“Petra –“

“And then you were more than friends, and for a little while it was amazing. Wasn’t it?”

Wil said nothing.

“And then something happened, and everything ended between you. Not just the sex, but your friendship. Everything important. Everything that mattered. And for years you didn’t say a word to each other. You hid in your villages and pretended the other didn’t exist. And that was it.”

“But we’re friends now,” Wil said slowly. “I – we are.”

“Is it the same as before?” Petra asked. She was being cruel, she knew, but the truth was cruel. “Are things like they were before you took the risk?”

Wil stared at her upturned hand, the nearly translucent lines etched across – so unlike like the deep, branching trenches that marked Auruo’s palms. Finally, she shook her head, capturing her lower lip between her teeth. “No,” she said softly, and those hands curled into fists. “It’s not the same.”

Petra nodded. “That’s why,” she insisted. “Okay? I’m – I’m not a coward, and I’m not pathetic. I’m trying to be smart about this.” She took a steadying breath, tucking her hands down. “If you knew then what you know now, could you go ahead and take the risk anyway?”

“Yes,” Wil whispered.

Petra had not expected this answer, and she craned around to stare. “What? Why?”

Wil seemed to regret admitting as much; her quicksilver grin was back, but it did not reach her eyes. “Because he’s a good-looking guy, don’t you think? Nice ass, nice arms. It was fun while it lasted.” She met Petra’s gaze briefly. “Don’t make this shit into a big deal.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good,” Wil said, and slipped her arm around Petra’s shoulders again. “What was it like?”

Petra swallowed. Thought of Auruo’s hands, and his closeness; how desperately she had wanted him, and how eagerly he had offered himself. “Overwhelming.”

“How’d it compare to …?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, turning away. “There was no comparison.”

“I figured,” Wil said with a shrug. “When we opened the closet, the first thing I saw was your face – like we’d dumped a bucket of cold water over your head. I’ve never seen you look like that. Or seen Boss look like that, either.”

“What did he look like?”

Wil’s lips quirked. “Overwhelmed.”

Petra closed her eyes. She wouldn’t think about that; wouldn’t think about his lips or his hands or the way his voice had sounded bent around her name, whispered as he pressed her close. Wouldn’t think about everything she wanted, and everything she now knew he wanted as well. It was foolish, and she wasn’t a fool.

She was a soldier.

Slowly, she got to her feet. “Let’s go inside,” she said, and her voice seemed to come across a great distance.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she said with a little shrug. “I’m fine. Just needed to catch my breath.”

It was a lie, and Wil probably heard the false note in her words. It _had_ been everything, and it would be nearly impossible to keep from flying into his arms now that she knew he wouldn’t turn her away. Now that she realized he would only hold her more tightly, and his hands would be taut with need.

 ~

Auruo went straight to bed. He did not speak to anyone, or even change into his sleep clothes. He pushed past Axel and tipped into his bunk, burying his face in his pillow.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Axel asked, and Auruo could almost hear the arch-browed incredulity in his voice. Or he might have, if he cared to critically examine anything about his current situation.

“Leave him alone,” Martin said, placing a gentle hand on his back.

Auruo turned away to hide the expression he knew would betray him, but a swell of gratitude filled him; common enough occurrence when it came to Martin, who alone seemed to understand Auruo’s reticence, and that not everything was fair game for exhaustive discussion.

After a long moment, he heard Axel plop into his bunk with an irritated sigh, and that was the end of that.

Whispers and low voices eventually gave way to slow breathing and quiet snores, and even Martin drifted off – humming fragments of music he was learning in his sleep, as he sometimes did. But Auruo remained awake, his face buried in the pillow. He frantically combed his thoughts, parsing the magnitude of his crimes. Struggling desperately to analyze his greatest wrong.

Had it been kissing her? Probably. He’d wanted to do so for years, for as long as he could accurately remember. For as long as he’d noticed her in that way, and the image of her in various stages of undress had entered his most private and embarrassing speculation. And, God --the act had been better than anything he could have imagined.

Likely it had been allowing himself to be pushed into participating in that stupid game. He’d _known_ it was a bad idea. He’d avoided that shit for years because of exactly this reason – either he’d get unlucky, or he’d get too lucky.

He pounded the pillow into a more comfortable shape, inhaling the musty scent of down. Maybe he’d get lucky and suffocate before tomorrow. At this point, anything would be better than the inevitable awkwardness. What _else_ would it be? He’d more than kissed her – he’d manhandled her, slammed her against the closet wall, groped her like some kind of deviant.

He’d be lucky if she ever spoke to him again after this.

And going by her reaction, it wasn’t likely that she would. His stomach clenched when he thought of her face; the horror that had nearly transformed her features into something unrecognizable, and how violently she’d broken away from him, as if she suddenly found his touch unbearable.

But before Wil and Axel had interrupted them, it had been amazing. She’d started things – he was sure of that. She’d grabbed him, pulled him so close that there’d been no space between them, or even the need of it. Where he was hard and desperate, she had been too – her lips at once tentative and demanding, and he’d been drunk on the sensation. Before that closet door had opened, for a second he thought that the boiling tension between them would ignite until they were bare, until they had reached its inevitable end.

 _He’d_ _wanted that._

Swallowing with difficulty, Auruo buried his face in the pillow and tried very hard not to breathe. He wracked his concussed thoughts for a way to fix this, but the longer he thought the more frustrated he became. There were some things in life that you couldn’t come back from, and slamming your best friend against the wall and groping her breasts was one of them.

There was no way he’d ever be able to look her in the eye again, not after remembering how painfully he’d needed her, how that painful need had manifested, pressed hard against her leg. The little sound she’d made as he shifted, her lips parting against his. _Fucking god …_

Well, that was it. The end. Over as suddenly and incomprehensibly as it began. Goodbye, Petra Ral.

The thought of life without her took his breath away, and a painful knot formed in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t imagine it– without her nagging, her teasing, without the funny way she laughed when she found something inexplicably hilarious. Without the gift of her presence, which he’d enjoyed for so long that he’d almost taken it for something immovable, steadiness in a world of irritating people and other annoyances.

He couldn’t let it end like this. Quickly, he devised a solution; he’d apologize and explain himself. Though he was normally inept at expressing himself without the added stress of a dire situation, he’d do it anyway. He had to.

He spent the rest of the night formulating his response, but by the time glimmers of sunrise peeked through his clenched eyelids, he was no closer to figuring out what the hell he’d say to her. _I’m sorry;_ definitely. And he was; more than he knew how to say. _I’m a horny idiot;_ true, but not an excuse. _I can’t imagine life without you in it;_ true, but pathetic. Too honest, too much. Definitely not that.

He changed into his uniform and strapped into his 3DMG, but instead of heading toward the mess hall with the rest of his classmates he veered in the other direction, to the training grounds. They were running the course again today, and at this point he didn’t think he could handle solid food in his unsteady stomach (or, for that matter, what was sure to be an incredibly awkward breakfast).

“Where are you going?” Martin asked him, brows knitted in concern.

Auruo pointed vaguely to the cluster of trees that marked the course.

“You’re not even going to eat?”

“Not hungry.”

Martin bit his lip. After a moment of deliberation, he broke away from the rest and followed Auruo. “Alright.”

“Ah, geez. You should eat.” Auruo scowled, annoyed yet touched by the gesture. “Don’t skip out on my account.”

“I’m not hungry either,” Martin said easily. “Honestly, Auruo; not everything is about you.”

“Fine, you little fucker. If you get hungry later, don’t even think about complaining to me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They waited on the platform in relative silence, save for the sounds of a stiff wind rustling through the trees and Martin’s resolute humming. After a moment, Auruo realized he was humming the concerto he’d been composing for the last few months. It was a piece that Auruo made no secret of liking, and he realized that this was another facet of Martin’s understated kindness. He wouldn’t make a big show of it, for he wasn’t that kind of person, and that only improved the gesture.

“What’s the orchestra doing?” Auruo asked. “When you’re doing the bouncy, stuttery thing with your bow.”

“Spiccato.”

“Right. And then you do that jump where you go from the lowest note to a bunch of really high ones. What’re they doing?”

“I haven’t actually put it down yet.”

“That’s a pretty shitty way to compose a concerto,” Auruo said, and he grinned for what felt like the first time all year.

“I have _thought_ about it,” Martin fired back. “I just haven’t written it yet.”

“Better get on it, maestro.”

Martin didn’t respond to the barb, instead, he smiled too, his left fingers moving to the shape of the music in his head. “I started writing songs for you too.”

Auruo froze. “Me?!”

“Yes. For you to sing. Just little things, nothing really special. And you don’t have to if you don’t like them, of course.”

“You don’t know that I can sing,” Auruo muttered.

“Yes, I do.”

“How’s that, huh?”

“You’re not as careful about hiding it as you think,” Martin said with a smug little grin. “You have a good ear and a fine voice. You shouldn’t be shy about it.”

“I’m not shy!” Auruo blurted furiously; he could think of nothing more uncool than being shy, and he’d be damned if the world knew him like that. “Geez!”

“Alright, alright. You’re not shy.” With a tiny shrug, Martin resumed fingering his concerto, using his right forearm as he would the fingerboard of his violin.

Auruo picked at a loose thread in the cuff of his jacket, winding it around his finger hard enough to hurt. “…You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know. But I enjoy writing music.”

“Even those shitty etudes?”

“Yes, even them.” Martin stretched his left fingers, then launched into speed drills. “A few years before I joined the Trainee Corps, a famous Tenor from the Sina opera stayed in my village for a few days. His wagon had broken down a mile or so down the road on his way back home, so he traded us some new wagon parts and the labor for repair for a bit of money he had on him and a night of music.”

Auruo scowled at this; any talk of Sina folk and their opulent lifestyle put him in a bad mood. “Why not pay you what you actually deserved for fixing his fuckin’ wagon?”

“Because he didn’t have as much as you’d think, Auruo. Don’t get upset.”

“I’m not.”

“He was very kind to us. A lot of people from behind Sina look down on us for being poor and uncultured, but he treated us with nothing but respect.”

“You were fixing his stupid broken bullshit. Am I supposed to be impressed that he treated you with the bare minimum of human decency?”

Martin fixed him with a penetrating stare, entirely unimpressed by Auruo’s bitterness. “I think you’re just determined not to like him because he was from Sina, although he had as much control over where he came from as you did.”

“He’s got plenty of control over what he does with all that money and influence, I’m pretty fuckin’ sure.”

Martin rolled his eyes, finally exhausted of his nearly infinite patience. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m--!”

“ _Anyway._ I only brought it up because you have a much better ear and voice than he did. He was trained, of course, and had been singing professionally for more than half his life. But you have talent. Raw potential. If you received the same level of time and training as he did, you’d be outstanding.”

Auruo couldn’t decide whether to be insulted or flattered by the assessment. Against his will, the brief image of him singing with an orchestra at his back filled his thoughts, and he didn’t find it as repulsive as he would have liked. After a moment of deliberation, he reverted to his natural state; grumbling irritable piece of shit. “Yeah, well. I’d never do anything to amuse a bunch of rich assholes.”

“ _Ugh_ , fine. Be stupid and proud.”

“Why’re you getting pissed? It wouldn’t happen anyway! I’m not – I’m a fuckin’ soldier, alright? That’s what I’m training to do. That’s all I _want_ to do.”

Martin sighed. “I know. I just brought it up because I _know_ you like singing. Though you pretend not to because you don’t think it’s cool.” His brows knit over thoughtful, grey eyes. “It doesn’t matter, you know. Being cool. It won’t matter in the end.”

Auruo had no reply, so they lapsed into preoccupied silence. He figured his pissy bullshit was no way to return Martin’s consideration – even the rich tenor from Sina had managed better than that – so swallowing his pride, he turned to his friend. “I … thanks. For the – the songs, or whatever. You know.”

Martin smiled, shifting from third to sixth position on his arm. “You’re quite welcome. You don’t have to sing them for me or anything, but it would be nice.”

“I can’t fuckin’ believe you! You manipulative little shit!”

“Me?” Martin adopted an expression of utter innocence. “I wouldn’t hear them otherwise, except in my head.”

“And your violin, you fuckin’ liar!”

“But they’re meant to be sang. It’s different.”

“You are fuckin’ unbelievable.”

“Oh, calm down. I said you don’t have to sing them for anyone if you don’t want.”

“Yeah, but you – you know what you fuckin’ did, you bastard! Twisting it all around so I’m an asshole if I’m – god damn it!”

“Calm down.”

“And stop telling me to calm down! Everyone’s always telling me to calm down, and I’m sick of it!”

“Maybe if you calmed down, no one would tell you to calm down anymore,” Martin said, struggling to keep a straight face.

Auruo decided to ignore him for the rest of the morning, which might have meant something if their exercise was a few hours into the future, but to Auruo’s dismay he caught sight of his classmates making their way to the platform, and realized breakfast must be over. At the edge of the group he saw a flash of Petra’s bright auburn hair, and a hard knot twisted in his stomach. He still had no idea what he’d say to her, and now wasn’t the time for this stupid bullshit anyway, so he got to his feet and faced the trees before he could meet her gaze.

He ignored Wil when she took her place next to him, but she was not so easily put off, not when there was shit to be stirred. “Missed you at breakfast, Boss.”

“That’s nice.”

“You feeling sick or something?”

“Could you shut up? I’m trying to concentrate.”

She huffed. “Whatever.”

And he tried, concentrating so hard that his vision shivered and his arms shook. He tried to empty his thoughts of everything but the course in front of him, the massive dummies that in only a few short months would be Titans in his path, the traps that would soon be their wild reach. He focused desperately on the weight of his gear at his back and thighs, the hilts of the 3DMG in his calloused grip.

But the memory of that closet was not so easily put away. He ran his thumb over the rough handle, and thought of her skin. Bit his lip, and thought of hers. Exhaled slowly, and thought of her breath warming his neck as he kissed her, as he –

He wouldn’t let himself think about this. He couldn’t help what tormented him in dreams, but while awake he was in control of his mind, and he would put this well away, where it couldn’t touch him. He wasn’t a total idiot. He was good at this shit. Good at putting stuff away. Good at pretending, at least.

The sound of the acoustic pistol startled him out of his thoughts, and he leapt from the platform a full second after Wil, grappling the nearest tree and furiously struggling to get a hold on himself.

_Concentrate. People’ve died in here. Don’t be stupid._

It wasn’t the worst he’d ever performed on the course, but it came pretty close. His cuts were shallow, his time was abysmal. And with each failed kill he grew more and more frustrated, until he could hardly see an armspan ahead. His temper buzzed at the edge of his thoughts, clouding his concentration even further; exacerbated by the knowledge that he was being stupid and pathetic, and his stupid pathetic bullshit was now getting in the way of the only thing in life he was actually good at.

He even broke one of his blades on an ill-conceived lateral maneuver, and it cut his arm from the back of his hand to midway up his forearm on its way down to the forest floor. He didn’t stop to clutch at the wound, but a hiss of pain escaped from between his clenched teeth. And as he continued through the dim, trap-laden forest, it continued to bleed.

By the time he’d almost finished, he saw Wil hanging at the treeline with an expression of incredulous boredom. “What the fuck is up with you today?” she called.

“I could ask the same thing! Why are you waiting for me?!”

Wil shrugged, swaying slightly in her gear. “I don’t care about this shit.”

“People die in here, you fucking idiot!”

He could see her expression of offensive concern from here. “You’re bleeding.”

“Just shut up and move, moron!”

With another shrug, she obeyed, grappling the side of the opposite platform and soaring through the air with similarly offensive grace. For Wil it was mindless – she was good without trying, good without giving a fuck, and today that infuriated him. For all her boastful, eager claims, she’d purposely tanked her grade so that it would be just as bad as his, and he hated the gesture. Hated that something as stupid as a kiss made these gestures necessary.  

When he landed, he stowed the hilts of his gear and clambered awkwardly to the ground, clutching his profusely bleeding arm. It hurt like hell, but at the moment he was thankful; it gave him an excuse to leave. He’d had enough of everything.

~

Petra waited outside the infirmary, her restless hands folded in her lap.

Wil had told her not to worry, that he was just a little scratched up, and had in fact been fine enough to walk to the infirmary under his own power, but still she worried. She knew Auruo better than she knew anyone, even herself. She knew he was upset, and she knew it was because of last night.

“Want me to wait with you?” Wil had asked, brows furrowed in concern.

“It’s alright,” Petra said. “I – I have to –“

“Yeah, I figured. Just don’t get all twisted up in your head,” Wil muttered. “You both do that.”

Petra allowed this without a retort, so Wil had offered a half-hearted wave before turning to leave. Petra thought she might have liked the silence better, but her thoughts and anxieties were awful company. Despite Wil’s advice, she found herself getting twisted up in them anyway.

She’d spent the day working out what she’d say to him. Honesty was best, she quickly decided – she needed to tell him that she cared about him but they couldn’t because they were going to be soldiers. That was first in the long line of reasons not to do whatever it was they both wanted. They weren’t normal people, or even normal soldiers; they were going to be members of the Survey Corps in only a few short months, and things were different there.

She’d have to admit to him that she was afraid of the many ways she could lose him; to a Titan, to a lapse in judgment. To a risk she wanted to take more than anything.  

She’d have to tell him that she loved him. Regardless of every other confusing truth in her life, that was constant; the only constant in a sea of variable. She loved him. She had since the beginning.

So she planned her speech with military precision, as befitting a soldier. She would be honest with him, because that was right. It had been easy too, back when her truths were lighter things; she shared everything with him without fear of censure or rejection, because he’d never do that to her. How could she stand to risk such a person?

When the door opened, her heart gave a sick lurch and dove to the pit of her stomach. She swallowed hard, smoothing her nervous hands against her uniform, and tried not to react when Auruo strode outside, clutching his hurt arm and wearing a distinctly unhappy expression. He jumped when he saw her.

“Petra!” he blurted just as she opened her mouth to speak. “Are you --?!”

He always thought of her first – he always put the moment aside for her well-being. She steadied herself, because suddenly she wanted to grab his good hand and kiss him again. “No,” she said, her voice strangely formal. “I was waiting for you.”

“Oh,” he said. “Right.”

She swallowed again. Her heart raced against unsteady ribs. They stood a careful distance apart, but she still felt it was too close, and not close enough. “What happened?” she asked, feeling a shameful blush creep across her cheeks.

He looked away, and she hated that he blushed too – why did he always have to make everything so difficult? “Was being careless,” he muttered, shrugging. “You know. Same old.”

“I’m – I’m glad you’re okay. Relatively. I mean – I’m glad you’re not hurt worse than you are. No, that’s --” She trailed off, furious and humiliated. “What I meant was –“

“I know what you meant,” he said quietly. “… Thanks.”

He looked miserable, she realized – like he was bracing himself for a blistering lecture – and she couldn’t stand it. But just as she began to say ‘I care about you’ he blurted ‘I’m sorry!’ at the same time, and both sentiments were lost in a jumble.

They stared at each other. “What?” they said in unison.

“You first,” he said.

“No, that’s all right. Go ahead.” 

His lips ( _soft, yet hard as they claimed hers)_ twisted in brief irritation. “I said I’m – I’m sorry,” he mumbled to his boots. “I was – I – fuck, I don’t know, I –“

“No, it was my fault, I was –“

“And I just –“

“You were –“

He colored badly, his cheeks acquiring the shade of a ripe apple. “I get it if you – if you’re just being polite, and –“

Instantly, she understood; he thought she was trying to leave him completely, and she felt the sudden, mad impulse to laugh. _As if I could._

Here it was – her moment to confess. _We can’t. I want to, but we can’t. I care about you. I can’t imagine life without you in it. I’m sorry. We can’t. God, I want to. I’m scared to. We can’t, we can’t, we can’t. We shouldn’t._

_I want to._

The words bubbled and caught at the back of her throat, and she swallowed in a vain attempt to dislodge them. But when she opened her mouth to speak, they did not come; trapped by fear, by the broken look on his face. So she improvised. And such improvisation; it was as if she’d been possessed by another person, one with a far better command of her emotional landscape.

“Why would I be polite to you?” she asked, and somehow she smiled. “You’re my best friend.”

The look of relief that stole across his features nearly broke her heart. It had been the right thing to say; abruptly the tense, awkward atmosphere dissipated between them, and instead they were left with what they had built togther for years – the ease of give and take. Knowing he’d rise to meet her teasing, and he’d do it with that grin she loved.

“That’s a good question,” he said finally, lips quirking. “Considering what a rude piece of shit you are.”

“You watch it, Auruo Bossard. I’ll break your other arm.”

“Yeah, you would.” His shoulders dropped, the stress between them unknitting. “Maybe one of these days you’ll go easy on me.”

“Never.” She bit her lip to keep from smiling too much. “Let’s go to lunch, okay? You should eat.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep your hair on, you nag.”

They set out for the mess hall, falling quickly in step. High sunlight warmed the back of her neck, and when she glanced sidelong at him her heart lodged itself in her throat again – far preferable to the pit of her stomach. He was smiling and she was smiling, and it was strange and a little awkward still, and it probably would be for some time, but she understood then that they would be okay. They would continue on, in some way, together.


	19. Chapter 19

On a pale morning in late autumn, the eastern 102nd Trainee Corps huddled in a procession of carts, rattling over the main road to Karanese. The sun had not yet risen. Pearly mist blanketed the countryside, veiling the trees in the near distance, and birds called for the approaching sunrise, their song mingling with sleepy groans and the creaking of wood.

Auruo thought of a similar morning over two years ago, with the carts bumping in the opposite direction, taking him away from everything he had ever known. Then, Petra had nestled her head against his shoulder and he had sang for her. Now, they sat across from each other, their knees brushing as the cart jostled forward. She smiled when he met her gaze before looking back to her boots, which she had immaculately polished for the occasion.

“Why bother?” he’d asked the night before.

“Dad,” was the simple answer.

He’d wanted to hold her, but of course that was not and would never be an option. The need of it was nearly overwhelming, though – even more so since their disastrous mistake in the closet. Four months had passed since, and they’d continued on in a stoutly determined manner, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge that anything out of the ordinary had happened. It suited him fine. He thought about it nearly every night, (her hands, her lips, the line of her pressed close) but it was fine. It was better than the alternative. He wouldn’t complain.

“Why’d they have to wake us up so early?” Wil groused, slipping her arm through Petra’s so that they jostled as a unit.

“’Cause they can’t shut down the whole district for that long while they test us on this shit,” Auruo said, rolling his eyes. “Think about it. We get today and come back tomorrow.”

“We’re not even testing in the whole district, smartass,” she shot back.

“A big part, then.” His lip curled. “But I’m sure the Commandant’ll reconsider next time for Princess Wilhelmina’s comfort.”

Wil aimed a kick at his shin. “Shut the fuck up.” But after a moment she snickered, as he’d known she would.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m glad this is going to be over quickly,” Martin mumbled, clutching his knees.

Auruo craned to stare. “Why’re you so nervous?”

“Because our performance directly affects our final mark.”

“Why do you care about that? You don’t want to join the Military Police.”

“I still want to do my best,” Martin said, scandalized. “You must not have noticed, being you, but I have standards. And I don’t want to fall short of them.”

Auruo grinned, throwing a gentle elbow in Martin’s ribs. “You won’t.”

There was no way to know this; in fact, Martin’s exacting standards often inspired such anxiety that it caused him to choke at critical moments. It made Auruo uneasy; there were a lot of weaknesses in character that a soldier could afford, but that was not one of them. Especially not a soldier of the Survey Corps, where death between the teeth of a Titan was a constant threat, and for some, an inevitability.

He caught Petra’s gaze for a brief moment. Her brows knit over worried eyes, and she bit her lip; he had no way of knowing for certain, because even now, years later, he still could not read her mind, but the gleam of earnest concern in her eyes gave him the feeling that they were in wordless agreement.

It was a mistake, looking so long, but he was captured. Her eyes were beautiful; catching the morning light, framed by bright auburn hair. He would look too long if unchecked, and it would ruin whatever tentative peace they’d eked out since he kissed her, so regretfully he cast his gaze back down to his scuffed boots.

After some time Martin crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes, his chin dropping to his chest; Auruo didn’t know if he’d actually fallen asleep or was just pretending to ward off any further attempts at comfort. Wil’s head drooped against Petra’s shoulder, jostling in time with the rattling cart, and on his other side Axel and Oskar leaned back to back; two massive boys rendered almost childlike in sleep. Auruo envied them; he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep for at least another week, not with the mess of anxiety curling in his stomach.

“Are you alright?” Petra asked him, so softly that he almost didn’t hear her over the creaking of the cart.

“Wh-? Yeah, I’m fine.” He frowned. “What’re you asking for?”

“You look stressed.”

He hated that she knew him so well that she could read the contents of his thoughts in the tightness of his mouth, in the tension of his shoulders. And he could read her much the same way, but she didn’t have a problem admitting such things. “I’m fine,” he grumbled. “Just tired.”

“No, you’re not.”

His lips twisted in irritation. “Why even ask me if you knew the fuckin’ answer?”

“Because I like giving you chances to be honest.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“Isn’t it?” She shifted slightly, and her knees brushed his. “Come on. Shelve the ‘I’m a cool badass’ thing for two seconds and talk to me.”

He scowled at her, annoyed at her insight and her beautiful face and the fact that she could read him like a book. “Yeah, I’m nervous. Geez. You happy now?”

“I’m thrilled.” She looked anything but. “You know you’ll be fine, don’t you?”

“I _don’t_ know that,” he muttered. “I’ll probably choke too.”

“You won’t. And besides; it’s only a small part of our overall –“

“Not for me, it isn’t,” he cut her off, coloring. “It’s different for you. You’re good in the classroom. You test well, you remember everything. I’m shit. I’ve _been_ shit. If I fuck up here, I’ll be lucky to get a two in strategy. Maybe even a _one.”_

“Auruo …”

“And then what happens? You don’t get in the top ten with those kind of scores.”

“You’d have done better if you’d paid attention,” she told him with a bit of her old naggish temerity. “You’re smarter than you think.”

“Are you seriously going to nag me right now? Yeah, okay – kick me when I’m down. Thanks.”

She glared at him. “Will you stop it? You’re so dramatic.”

“I am not!”

“ _Auruo_. Just … you’re going to do fine. Alright?” Despite herself, a small smile curved her lips. “You’re going to be amazing.”

And he wouldn’t deny that her earnest words and the way she looked at him up through long lashes was so lovely that his reaction registered like ache, settling in his chest – he couldn’t breathe right, with her looking at him like that. “Geez,” he muttered. “Start off with that next time, instead of browbeating me with the nag routine.”

The smile vanished, and temper snapped in her gaze. “You’re unbelievable.”

And he was grateful for the temper; it was easier to take. Easier to keep things as they should be. “What’s this shit? You talking like it’s some big surprise?” He shot her an obnoxious grin. “You’ve known me a long time, nag.”

“I sure have. For whatever reason.”

“Uh huh.” He wouldn’t comment further; he wouldn’t make claims as to her feelings, when she’d made them clear. “I bet you’re nervous too.”

“I’m not.”

“Bullshit. You’re chewing the inside of your cheek.”

She stopped immediately, but he’d caught her and they both knew it. “I don’t do that.”

“Petra.”

Brow furrowed, and she let out an irritated breath. “Fine. I’m nervous. And the worst part is I shouldn’t even be nervous, because he won’t – he probably –“

“He has work,” Auruo said quietly.

“Right. He can’t just not go to work.” Her lip trembled, and she bit it so hard that he feared she’d break skin. “He wouldn’t come even if he didn’t have work.”

Auruo knew he couldn’t say what was really on his mind – that her dad was a stupid asshole, and that he still hadn’t forgiven Mr. Ral for the hurtful things he’d said to his daughter during First Interim. They would only make the situation worse, and that was the last thing he wanted. Instead, he leaned close, mastering the urge to take her hand in his. “He’s missing out. Alright? He’s --” _A fucking moron._ “He’s missing out.”

“Maybe,” she said, but slowly the hurt crease between her brows faded, and he felt like he could breathe again. “At least your brothers will be there.”

“You couldn’t keep them away,” Auruo agreed, albeit grudgingly. He knew they’d volunteer to be innocent bystanders; anything for a chance to get a closer look at soldiers fighting ‘Titans’. The whole thing made him uncomfortable and nervous for reasons he couldn't exactly articulate.

“Your brothers?” Wil said, lifting her head from Petra’s shoulder and blinking blearily at him.

“Yeah. They’re gonna be around today.” He scowled. “You’ll probably hear them yelling.”

“Are they as charming as you?”

“Actually, his brothers are really sweet,” Petra interjected, smiling. “You’ll see.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“So Boss is the anomaly, got it.” Wil flashed her favored jackal’s grin. “I look forward to meeting them at last.”

“Like hell,” Auruo muttered. “I’m keeping them the fuck away from you.”

“Really! What have I done to deserve this?”

“That’s the stupidest question I ever heard in my life.”

“Geez, Boss.” She said no more, but her smirk made her thoughts on the subject clear; he was ridiculous and ill-tempered, especially compared to his brothers, who were by and large shaping up to be better people that him. And this made him happy, because he’d always known this even when they were small, but it was none of Wil’s fucking business.

Still smirking, Wil combed her fingers through Petra’s hair, unravelling the braid and twisting bright auburn strands up into a tight bun. And Auruo considered it a victory that he only felt a vague flash of desire at the sight – easily ignored, or passed off as general anxiety.  

“Do you even know how to do your own hair anymore?” he asked, grinning.

“Oh, shut up. Of course she does,” Wil said, mirroring his expression. “Don’t be jealous.”

“I worry about your ability to understand human beings sometimes. Is this all a little too much? Do you need me to speak slower?”

“Ha ha, asshole. Lamb, do you want me to stop doing your hair?”

“Actually, I’d rather you continue,” Petra said with a small smile. “She’s really good at it.”

“What’re you gonna do when she can’t do it anymore? After she schleps off to the Military Police?”

Petra shrugged. “Shave it off, probably.”

“Don’t even joke!” Wil said, scandalized. “I’ll march to the Survey Corps HQ and kick your skinny ass off the Wall if you even think about it.”

“You would not.”

“Go ahead and try me!” Wil tied off the bun with practiced fingers, giving it a little tug to test its strength. “Your hair’s so nice it’s not even human. Don’t you think, Boss?”

So much for that. A stab of nervousness shot through him, and he remembered the closet, his hands in that hair, and a nearly whispered confession, cast to his feet in shame. He shrugged, as if it was so obvious to hardly merit mention. “Sure.”

And he tried not to notice, because every little thing Petra did added into an impossible sum, and it became more difficult to keep the way he felt under control the larger this sum grew. But he saw a slight flush color her cheeks, offset by her fading summer freckles, and the effect was lovely.

The procession of carts took the whole morning to reach Karanese. The early morning fog slowly dissipated under the steady gaze of the sun, and slowly the other occupants of their cart awoke, blinking blearily into the harsh late morning light. Anxious conversation resumed – punctuated by laughter and whispers, by speculation that grew less and less realistic the closer they drew to the walls of Karanese.

Auruo laid his palms flat on his thighs to mask their shaking, because Petra was right – he was nervous, and he’d probably still be nervous well after the test had ended. He’d be nervous until he saw his final rank, and then he’d either be furious or elated.

Probably furious. He was crap. He’d failed on everything but combat, and it would show. He’d be lucky to scrape the last spot, let alone the first. He’d be lucky if they didn’t just dump his failure ass out of the military altogether, so pathetic were his scores. He wasn’t even that good at combat, and now his family would be watching him fail spectacularly– his brothers, who incorrectly believed he was someone to look up to.

He hadn’t seen them in months. He missed those little brats, more than he knew how to say in his letters, and he was distinctly dismayed that the first they’d see of him in so long would be his spectacular and inevitable failure.

Flat palms clenched into fists; he swallowed the block of nausea and anxiety churning at the back of his throat, watching the massive Karanese wall grow closer and closer until it loomed above them all.

“I think you and Petra are lucky,” Axel commented as they passed beneath the gate.

“How’s that?”

“You’re familiar with this place. That’s a pretty solid advantage.”

“We’re not familiar with the rooftops,” Auruo shot back, rolling his eyes. “And that’s where we’ll doing shit today.”

“Still; you know the layout of the city – pretty well, I imagine.”

“Yeah, well.” Auruo scowled, staring holes at the stuffed toes of his boots. “I need any advantage I can get.”

“What the fuck is this shit?”

“You heard me.”

Axel stared at him – light brown eyes wide and disbelieving. “Who has consistently pulled eights and nines in the course runs?”

“Axel, come on …”

“No, you come on. I seem to have forgot.”

“It’s forgotten, you hick.”

Axel smirked. Auruo’s command of grammar and lexicon was not much better, and questionable at best; he spoke like most people in his poor neighborhood did, with dropped consonants and drawled vowels. “Well?”

“Tch. Fine – I have.”

“Yeah, you have. So calm down and stow this hand wringing shit. You know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah, alright.” A smirk stole across Auruo’s features. “Jury’s out on you, though.”

“That’s right – have a laugh at my expense, and after I went through the arduous effort of cheering you up.” But Axel grinned too. “Seriously. None of us have anything to worry about.”

“Why’s that?” Wil asked, her tone dripping with arch-browed incredulity.

“Because we’re the best. Simple.”

“Where do you get off including yourself in that number? You’ve gotten a nine like once.”

“Yeah? Well, you’ve never gotten one, how’s that?”

“My average is higher than yours.”

“They don’t give a flying fuck about averages, Wilhelmina.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Will you relax?” Axel’s self-assured grin was back. “We’re the best. So we got nothing to worry about.”

This proclamation elicited annoyed stares from the other occupants of their cart, but Auruo noticed no one bothered to correct him. And it was true; they could still choke, and in Auruo’s case it was likely he would, but when it came down to it the six of them had been scoring consistently higher than the rest of the their classmates.

The procession of cart-bound trainees rattled through the main thoroughfare, which had been closed off for the occasion. Civilians watched with poorly masked interest – some children even pressed their faces to the windows of their homes, watching with wide eyes. Most businesses in the central districts were closed for the test, as it was dangerous for civilians and non-military to go about their daily affairs with trainees grappling chunks out of the buildings and the Garrison moving Titan dummies at increasingly reckless speeds.

Auruo had never gotten the day off when he worked in the factory, because the need for blades outweighed circumspection, but as he made his way home from work with his father at his side, he’d caught a glimpse of the final moments of the test; trainees soaring through the air like birds, shouting to one another as they enacted strategies they’d learned through hard years of training. Scrapping desperately for a high mark.

“This is where you live?” Martin said as he studied the buildings and cobbled streets with huge eyes. “I’ve never seen such a big city. Do you live in one of these?”

“These nice houses? Fuck no,” Auruo laughed. “My neighborhood’s tucked in the back, right by the southern wall. It’s a dump.”

“Auruo,” Petra scolded.

“What?! It is! _Anyway_ ,” he continued before she could cut him off again. “We probably won’t pass through it.” 

“You’re, right, I’m sorry. I just … it’s so big,” Martin breathed. “There must be so much variety. So many different homes.”

“Yeah. Rich neighborhood’s close to the center and west, ‘cause it’s farthest away from the outside Wall. And it gets poorer the further out you go.” Auruo shrugged. “Is it really that different from your village?”

“Yes! I mean, it’s a village,” Martin said, studying the looming Garrison headquarters. “It’s too small for neighborhoods.”

“Your city boy’s showing, Boss,” Axel smirked.

“Excuse me for not growing up in a tiny fuckin’ village!” Auruo grumbled. It was true – of them all, Auruo was the only one to have lived his entire life in a bustling, overstuffed wall district.

“Don’t let them give you shit, Boss,” Wil cut in, her expression twisted with something he didn’t recognize. “You didn’t miss much.” She cast her gaze over the towering buildings and wide streets. “I’m kinda jealous, in fact.”

“Jealous?!”

“Yeah. This place’s is a lot more interesting than my fucking trash heap village,” Wil said carelessly. “There’s probably a lot of interesting shit around here. Lots of interesting things to do, trouble to find. People to fuck.”

“You would be interested in that,” Axel smirked, and his hand came to a lazy rest on Oskar’s narrow shoulder.

“And you wouldn’t?!”

Auruo rubbed the bridge his nose. “Can you guys give it a rest for one day?”

“Sure, Boss,” Axel said, the picture of equanimity. Wil, for her part, glowered at the three of them.

As they filed out of the cart and into the Garrison HQ courtyard, Auruo shot a mildly annoyed glance at Oskar. He so rarely spoke, which was inconvenient as he seemed to be the only one able to keep Axel under control. Almost as if he sensed Auruo’s scrutiny, Oskar turned and met his gaze, and after a moment’s pause, slowly shook his head.

“You could keep him from making trouble,” Auruo muttered to the larger boy.

Oskar merely stared, his brow furrowing almost infinitesimally, and shook his head again.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. He listens to you.”

Open stare turned incredulous – sign of a sense of humor, perhaps? Oskar showed his palms, brow arching as if to say _when do I say anything?_

“He would if you did _,_ anyway.”

 Oskar shook his head, and to Auruo’s great surprise, finally spoke; “No.”

Auruo gaped. “Why?”

It was clear why Oskar chose to remain quiet most of the time; his voice was odd, too soft for such a large person, incongruous with his imposing physique and cunning features. He lapsed once again into silence, frowning, and Auruo thought he looked almost lost. A twinge of guilt twisted in his stomach.

“Ah, just forget it,” he said, giving Oskar’s massive shoulder a nudge. “They’d snipe at each other anyway.”

Oskar nodded, but did not look encouraged by the fact.

“You nervous about this shit today?”

Oskar craned over his shoulder, studying Wil and Axel as they argued, Petra and Martin as they conferred, before meeting Auruo’s gaze once more, nodding once.

“You’ll be fine,” Auruo assured him. “I mean, not that I give a – well, you know. You know what you’re doing.”

But Oskar shook his head.

“Yeah, you will. Don’t be an asshole about it.”

Oskar looked over his shoulder again and sighed. “I’m not nervous for myself.”

Auruo could think of nothing to say to this; almost three years ago he’d inexplicably fallen into this odd group, full of people who were in so many ways superior to him, and they had somehow not tired of him yet. Swallowing, Auruo turned away – touched and irritated by the gesture. “Yeah, well … maybe worry about yourself a little.”

Neither their instructors nor the Garrison Commander addressed the trainees before divvying them into squads; there had been so much preparation in the weeks before this test that at this point the announcement would have been a waste of time. Everyone knew what to do – this exercise simulated a Titan attack on an urban center, and the goal was to keep damage and casualties to a minimum while also bringing down as many targets as possible. Straightforward, as far as tests went.

Though for Auruo, the stake was a little more personal. This was his home, and his brothers had delightedly informed him in their letters that they’d be volunteering as innocent bystanders. It wasn’t hard to imagine the situation marred by realism – real Titans rampaging through the streets, and his family in their path. A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck.

After checking their gear and gas tanks, the trainees of East 102nd broke apart into their pre-assigned squads. Auruo’s featured a worrying spread in skill; he’d been lucky enough to be partnered with Wil and Petra, who were reliably proficient, (not to mention two of his favorite people in general), but rounding out their squad was Bevin Schwartz and Fritz Solberg – in other words, two of the most incompetent idiots in their class. Auruo shot them an annoyed glance as they filed through the streets.

“Give them a chance,” Petra said quietly, noting his stare.

“Petra …”

“I’m serious.”

“They’ve never gotten higher than fours. I swear to fuckin’ god if they bring my mark down …”

“They won’t … unless you’re saying your ability’s that easy to affect.”

“I’m definitely not saying that.”

“Then there shouldn’t be a problem.” She smiled sweetly. “And it couldn’t hurt to help.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

Her grin became sly. “Why are you talking like it’s some big surprise?”

It was one of her favorite things to do; taking his words and turning them against him at opportune moments. But he couldn’t even be properly annoyed with her, because the autumn sunlight caught in her autumn colored hair, and her amber eyes were bright with mischief and joy, and she was so beautiful that he couldn’t breathe. He could never breathe right around Petra.

He managed to recover, by the skin of his stupid teeth. “It’s not a surprise. I know your bullshit so well, Petra Ral.”

“And I know yours.”

He turned away, focused on the sight of the familiar rooftops and absence of familiar streetside bustle. He pushed aside his thoughts in favor of the sensory; sights, smells. Cloud spat blue above, cobbled stone below.  This was the most important test before their final examinations, and he couldn’t let himself be distracted. Not even by Petra.

At the Garrison’s first signal, they grappled onto the roof of a warehouse on the edge of the market district and watched the soldiers wheel the Titan dummies into place. Wil bounced on the balls of her feet and toyed with the hilts of her gear, studying the scene below with a canny, ice-sharp gaze. Auruo shifted from foot to foot – preparing his muscles for flight, his mind for the melee. In his thoughts, he sorted through dozens of maneuvers he’d learned in the last few months, remembering how he’d practiced them until he could hardly move, until his besieged muscles screamed for rest.

Petra remained still. It was not an idle stillness, however; she was caught energy, the held silence of a waiting inhale, each line of her taut with kinetic potential. He knew that the moment she caught sight of the starting pistol, she would launch into the air before she’d even grappled a broadside target. And she would fly.

“It’s taking them a long fucking time,” Wil groused, hopping nervously. Ceramic shingles rattled under her feet.

“Maybe they’re screwing with us,” Auruo muttered. “Making us wait so we get nice and nervous.”

“So don’t be nervous,” Wil shot back. “Honestly, Boss. I’m getting really fucking sick and tired hearing about how fucking nervous everyone is. Blah blah, it’s a big deal, blah blah, our ranks, blah. Who cares. Just shut up.”

“You shut up,” he retorted. “No one was saying anything until you opened your goddamn mouth.”

“Both of you, shut up,” Petra cut in, and he heard the slightest bite of temper in her voice. “Wil, stop picking fights. Auruo, stop taking her bait.”

He wasn’t exactly happy about it, but obeyed her request without another word. He had better things to think about, anyway; he studied the preliminary placement of the dummies and the clearly marked bystander areas, formulating his plan.

“So, uh … I think we should try to hit the little ones to get warmed up,” Fritz was saying, fixing them with a hopeful expression. “We could –“

“No,” Auruo said flatly. “The little ones don’t do as much damage. The big ones go down first.”

“But they’re faster too –“

“Look, you can do what you want, but I’m going to take down the big ones, ‘cause they’re closest to the bystanders and the big buildings. If you don’t want a crap score for once, you better follow me.”

“Is that your idea of inspirational?” Wil said delightedly.

“ _Auruo_ ,” Petra hissed.  

“What?! I’m just saying. We probably should do the same thing since we’re a fuckin’ squad and all. Does my idea sound like a bad one?”

“No, but since you’re an unbelievable asshole, I think I’ll do something else just to spite you,” Petra fired back, eyes blazing with temper.

“No, you won’t.” The very idea was laughable; she was proud, but not stupid. “Goddammit. Look, I’m sorry,” he said to Fritz. “I just think we oughta do this right instead of skirting the edges and letting the other squads take care of it. I mean, is that what you’d do if there were really Titans messing shit up?”

“Uh … yeah,” Bevin said.

Auruo stared; for a moment unable to reconcile this with reality. “Why the fuck join the military if you weren’t gonna do what had to be done when people need you to?!”

“Because you’re supposed to join, if you don’t got a good trade,” Fritz said miserably. “Otherwise you’re a coward.”

“You’re cowards anyway!”

This time not even Petra reprimanded him for his rudeness.

A few blocks away the ready flare shot into the sky, and Auruo turned away from his stupid, disappointing squadmates, grinding his teeth in temper. His brothers lived here. His parents. In a few months these fucking failures would shuffle off to the Garrison, where they’d be responsible for the lives of every civilian within the walls of their assigned district. And should the worst happen, his family would be solely in their hands, or someone similarly cowardly and incompetent.

He felt Petra at his elbow. “I’ll stick with you,” she said quietly. Censure forgotten; perhaps she realized the reason for his mood. “Even though you’re an unbelievable asshole.”

She had a better head for this kind of stuff than he did, and when it came down to it he’d gladly follow her lead. “Then I’ll stick with you too,” he returned. “Even though you’re an insufferable nag.”

And it was nice, for a moment. Her small, half-smile shattered his concentration and instead he found himself fixating on it, on her; a stubborn tendril of hair pulled loose from her bun, the smattering of freckles scattered across her cheeks, and the slightest upturn of her nose. She was too beautiful, and too _good_ , and it was impossible to keep from noticing.

The second signal fired a towering column of green smoke above the Garrison HQ, and just as he’d predicted Petra leapt from the roof, he and Wil solidly behind.

He’d been prepared for the test, but not the reality – the effort their instructors went to make this exercise as realistic as possible. The bystander volunteers screamed and the Garrison wheeled the Titan dummies through the streets, and to his stress-baked brain it almost seemed real. Those weren’t dummies, but Titans, and those screams were genuine.

But he fixated on the form of Petra, her blades drawn and held at such an angle that they did not create wind resistance, the back of her jacket whipping in the wind as she soared. For a moment, he was chasing her in the field of their childhood, and suddenly this was familiar ground. He knew what to do.

“Left!” he called, and though she hadn’t seen it Petra arced around, her leg tucked close, hurling herself at a smaller dummy as it wheeled toward a group of bystanders. And he caught sight of her kill because it happened in a split second – one moment she was poised above, blades drawn, and the next she’d soared away, a near perfect chunk of padding tumbling to the ground.

Soon they were joined by another; ten meters, he thought, and tacking an unsteady path in the same direction, to approximate the random movements of an Aberrant. He grappled high – trust, reverse; spun in a tight circle and shot forward, leading with his strongest arm. He wasn’t as fast as Petra, but when he felled the Titan, his cut was perfect.

The three of them moved as a unit. They cut through their corner of Karanese the entire afternoon, without a single pause – felling Titans as they approached, herding them away from strategic landmarks and bystander areas. And he wasn’t really all that good at this teamwork thing – he preferred to work alone, to bring down Titans with only himself to worry about – but he wouldn’t deny that it was good to work with Petra and Wil.

It was good to work with Petra especially. Putting aside that he adored her, she was a talented soldier in every respect – faster and more agile than him, calmer in the face of adversity. She was able to anticipate him, mirror his movements almost effortlessly, detect every subtle twitch and motion, and all of it done without a word.

 _We could look out for each other,_ she’d said at the beginning. And he realized yet again that she’d taken her end just as seriously as he’d taken his.

They soared over another bystander group, and this time heard a group of familiar voices punctuating the affected screams; each of them so familiar and dear, he would have known them anywhere. “Auruo!” they cried, and when he looked down he saw his brothers hopping up and down, waving as if their lives depended on it. “Look! Look!!” Behind Benoit was his mother, and standing beside his mother was –

“Oh my god,” he heard Petra say over the rattle of their cables.

 Standing beside his mother was Mr. Ral. It was too distant to see his expression, but he was there – his face upturned to watch the trainees, perhaps searching for a flash of bright auburn hair. And when he caught sight of Petra, he did not look away. He watched her soar.

“Back!” Wil called to them.

Eyeing an approaching twelve meter tacking awkwardly up the street, he reversed with a flip – twisting high above them. Tuck, thrust, reverse; showing off just a little. And he knew Petra had done the same; as she whistled past he caught a glimpse of her fiercely determined expression, her brows narrowed over blazing, fire-bright eyes. He grappled a wide left arc toward the dummy, and when he saw her mirror his advance with an expertly executed right arc, he laughed aloud. She was amazing. She was fucking amazing.

He aimed high, she aimed low – and together they cut twin swaths out of the dummy’s neck.

~

It was dusk when the Garrison fired the red signal into the sky, marking the official end of the test. Auruo was exhausted, but thrilled with himself; he knew he’d done well, in some distant corner of his mind. He was a failure in a classroom, but on the field he was pretty fucking good. He clattered awkwardly to the ground, slumping almost the moment his feet touched earth.

“What a weenie,” Wil smirked, and she slid down a low wall next to him, wrapping her arms around trembling legs.  

“Shut the fuck up,” he shot back, but it lacked the anxious bite of their previous argument; this time he laughed. “God. Do you ever stop?”

“Nah.”

Petra crumpled on his other side, too exhausted to chastise them. He noticed that she was close; she was closer than she’d been in months, breathing hard and pulling her knees tightly to her chest. More hair had come loose from her bun, and a trickle of sweat slid down the side of her face and neck, pooling at the hollow of her collarbone. She was rumpled and exhausted, and for some reason he couldn’t explicitly define the sight made him uncomfortable. He looked away.

“We should go,” Petra said, struggling to catch her breath. “We have to regroup at the barracks for the night.”

“Yeah,” Auruo agreed, but he made no move to stand. “We should.”

“Allow me to propose a counteroffer,” Wil interjected.  “We sit here for a damn minute and catch our breaths, and get back to the barracks when we can fucking walk.”

“I can walk fine,” Auruo argued halfheartedly. “I could probably carry you both.”

“Is that right?” Petra grinned at him. “Go on, then.”

He scowled at her, annoyed at the tease, annoyed that she looked so gorgeous after sweating her ass off the whole day. “I said I _could_ , not that I was going to.”

“Uh huh.”

He decided not to dignify this with a response.

They remained for close to a half hour, watching the red purple smear of sky fade to darkness, streaked by clouds. The air was cool; his sweat dampened shirt clung to his back, and he shivered as the heat from exertion faded. But he was content – for the first time in what felt like ages, he was satisfied with himself. He probably hadn’t done well enough to ensure a spot in the top ten, but he _had_ done well, and Petra had done well; even lackadaisical Wil had pulled through.

And he remembered how it had felt to work with Petra – to weave in and out of her path, to fall so perfectly in sync that it was as if they shared one thought. One goal. It had been exhilarating; the most exhilarating experience of his life. This was an intimacy allowed by their lives, the strictures of the military; this intimate exchange in battle would be theirs, as long as they wanted it. And he knew he wanted it.

Before he stood, he felt Petra’s fingers brush the back of his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read, subscribed, left kudos and comments on this story! Your support and feedback mean the world!


	20. Chapter 20

Petra fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. The fabric was scratchy against her cheek, the blankets threadbare and the mattress thin, and the guest barracks themselves were cold and unfamiliar, but she was so exhausted that she noticed none of these things. The afternoon’s test had been arduous, and tomorrow morning she would be expected to rise with the rest of her classmates, file back into the carts, and begin the return journey back to camp. But after only a few hours, she felt someone insistently shaking her shoulder, their whispers shaking her from deep, dreamless sleep. She opened her eyes, blinking wearily at the intruder.

“What is it?” she mumbled sleepily.

Wil’s face came into focus, her startling blue eyes bright with mischief. “C’mon,” she whispered, grinning. “We’re going out.”

“Out?!”

“That’s what I said.” Her expression shifted slightly. “Well, not out  _exactly._ There’s an attic that’s not being used, and Oskar found some wine.” Her grin seemed sharper in the darkness. “We’re going to drink it.”

Petra blinked. “You … found  _what?”_

“Wine, you idiot. Do you want me to shout it and wake everyone up?”

Petra didn’t acknowledge this. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You never think anything fun is a good idea,” Wil fired back. “Come on. Get out of bed, put on a sweater or something, and come with me. The guys are already there, probably drinking it without us.”

“The guys?”

“God, are you always so stupid when you wake up? The only guys we bother talking to.”

This caught Petra’s attention. She didn’t imagine Auruo had been too keen on this idea either; he had less trouble flouting rules than she did, but he was not a fan of being woken up unnecessarily, and he probably would not find a stolen bottle of wine a sufficient enough reason for the excursion. But he was also a troublemaker, and the thought of letting him partake in this particularly stupid idea without her there to balance it out with reason was enough to defeat her misgivings.

“Alright,” she said quietly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “Just for a little while. And I’m not drinking anything.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever. Get your cardigan.”

“I’m not getting dressed?”

“What, and walk around in your fucking uniform? Are you nuts? If we get caught wearing our uniforms, we’d get in trouble immediately. If we get caught wearing our sleep clothes and shit, we can at least try to play it off like we’re stupid locals sneaking around.”

This logic wasn’t exactly ironclad, but it was better that nothing. Sighing, Petra shrugged into her oversized sweater, wrapping the loose ends tightly around herself. Wil grinned, tugging on her wrist before disappearing into the thick darkness of the guest barracks, her white blonde hair a flash of light through shadow.

Petra would never admit as much, but she was nervous. It wouldn’t be the first time Auruo saw her in her night clothes, but it would be the first time since they’d kissed in the closet. And there was something a little more intimate about it now; somehow, the act of kissing him had made her more vulnerable to his stare, and the way his eyes would linger when he thought she wasn’t looking. 

“Why are we doing this?” she whispered, grabbing Wil’s hand.

Wil squeezed. “Because we’d never get away with doing something like this back at camp.”

“If you say so.”

It was too dark to properly see, but Wil mirrored Petra’s expression, down to the furrowed brow. “You know, Auruo said you used to like getting into trouble.”

“I never liked getting in trouble.”

“Well, then you liked risking it. That’s what he said, anyway.”

“He likes to exaggerate.”

“I don’t think he would about this.” Wil’s frown deepened. “He talked about it like it was some fond, special memory.”

Petra said nothing. A few years ago she’d delighted in risk, in skipping across their river and holding his hand whenever she felt like it, delving through the city’s more dangerous alleys, but then Wall Maria had fallen and she’d seen so clearly what an afternoon of careless risk could bring. She’d entertained hours of speculation, turning the situation over in her mind, and it always came back to the same disappointing answer.

It wasn’t a long trek to the attic, and they were careful to keep their steps light as possible, so the wooden floors wouldn’t creak beneath their feet. Even so, Petra’s heart lodged itself in her throat, beating a thrilled pace. She wouldn’t ever admit this, but the threat of discovery  _was_ thrilling; her ears pricked at every little sound, and her fingers twitched idly, as if itching for the hilts of her gear. This was so close to her natural state, the way she best saw the world. And it was dangerous to feel this way, about anything.

She followed Wil up the winding steps to the attic, nervously smoothing her nightshirt over her thighs. Suddenly, the hem was too short for her liking – just barely skimming the middle of her knee. He hadn’t seen her bare legs in a long time. Not since before they kissed.  _It’s a risk, it’s a terrible risk. Go back to bed._

At the mouth of the attic, she saw Axel trying to work the cork out of the wine bottle with his teeth. Oskar looked on with a fond, slightly cunning smile. Martin was beside himself, casting nervous glances to the door at increasing intervals; he actually jumped when he caught sight of them, and his face had gone quite pale.

And Auruo – she should have expected. Auruo glowered at the gathering, at the bottle of wine, at Axel the ringleader, at everything in his life, but when he saw her the glower faded and his brows lifted, and he almost smiled. And she hated it – hated that he was so obvious, now that’s he knew what to look for. Hated that she was just as obvious.

“There you are,” Axel said, tone jocular. “I was afraid you’d both wimp out.”

Auruo spluttered, Martin turned a delicate shade of green. Wil, for her part, was not impressed. “If anyone’d _puss_ out here, it’d be  _you,_ Axel.”

“That so, huh?” Axel waved them over, undeterred by her bluster, and Wil plopped down at his left. “Come on, sit down. Make yourselves comfortable. We’re having a party.”

“What’s the occasion?” Petra asked, and she took a reluctant seat in the only empty place in the circle, which was at Auruo’s right. He shot her an expression that could have meant  _sorry_  or  _hi_  or some awkward combination, and she found it so endearing, so impossible; this afternoon they had fought like one person, and in the face of such intimacy he no longer knew what to do with himself. She didn’t either.

“We’re geniuses that aced our practical exam, that’s what,” Axel said through his teeth, as he’d started to work the cork out of the bottle again. Finally, it gave with a satisfying pop. “I’ll bet you anything we’re all going to be in the top ten.”

“I won’t,” Martin said with an equanimous shrug. “You all probably will, but not me.”

“Shove that crap right now, Klossner,” Wil said fiercely. “I mean it.” Her expression gave way to a cunning smirk. “If anyone has anything to worry about, it’s Axel.”

“No, I don’t think I have anything to worry about,” Axel said, adopting an air of blithe unconcern, and he took a hearty swig of the wine before passing it to Oskar. “Don’t be stingy and take little sips,” he said with a pointed look at Martin. “Oskar went through a lot of trouble to get this shit. It’d be rude to pass it up.”

“Since when do you care about being rude?” Wil retorted.

Axel shot her a genuinely affronted look. “I always care! You just assume the worst.”

“That’s all you ever bother to show.”

Axel ignored this. “Why do you care if you’re not in the top ten, anyway?” he asked Martin.

“I don’t exactly,” Martin said, taking a tiny sip of wine and wincing at the taste. “I was just making an observation, and you all overreacted. You’re all practically prodigies. You consistently score the highest of all our classmates in each practical test we’re given. I’m lucky if I don’t cut myself on my gear during a course run.”

“Martin, geez,” Auruo said as he took the wine. “Who’s overreacting now?!”

“I’m not,” Martin said. “And ‘geez’ yourself. There’s nothing wrong with being pragmatic about one’s abilities. I’m not that skilled at combat; my cuts are shallow, I’m easily exhausted. I have no stamina.”

“Why join the Survey Corps, then?” Auruo asked. “That stuff’s kinda important there.”

“Because I’m clever and intelligent, and there’s a place for those skills too. It’s not all about how well you fight, but how well you can think. Don’t give me that look, Auruo; I’ve thought a lot about it.” His expression became resolute. “And I’m not changing my mind.”

“I wasn’t gonna tell you to!”

“Hm.”

Inexplicably irritated, Auruo passed the bottle to Petra. She wasn’t minding herself or her hands, so their fingers brushed – just lightly, but enough to send her pulse racing again, a fan of tingling heat spreading though her palm, up her arm, as if he’d burned her. So startled by the intensity of the touch she nearly dropped the bottle, only catching it at the last second, and a splash of wine leapt from the rim and splattered her bare calves. She hastily rubbed it off.

“Careful,” Axel said lazily –not as worried about the fate of the wine as she thought he would be. “Oskar went through a lot of trouble, blah blah.”

Oskar rolled his eyes.

“Give it a rest about the goddamn wine,” Auruo muttered.

Without bothering to wipe the rim, she took a desperate gulp and swallowed before the flavor even touched her tongue. It went down hot, liquid fire coating her from the inside out, spreading through her chest with luxurious slowness. It was a feeling she had an instant approximate for. When Auruo had touched her, she felt like this; wine-touched, addled and drunk.

“Save some for the rest of us,” Wil said with a grin. “Far as I know, that’s the only one we got.”

“We could go digging around for another,” Axel said. “Oskar’s good at finding things.”

Oskar shrugged, his favored cunning grin curving at his lips.

“Don’t be modest; you are.”

Another shrug; this time slightly annoyed.

“How’d you even find this bottle?” Wil asked after she swallowed her gulp.

Oskar just shook his head.

“You gotta spill one of these days.”

His brow arched, and he tilted his head incredulously.

“Yeah, you do!”  

“Ah, let him have his secrets,” Axel said with a dismissive wave. “We let you have yours.”

“You  _let_  me? How magnanimous,” Wil said, smirking. “Thank you, kind master.”

They passed the wine around the circle and talked for hours, it seemed to Petra – she watched the slow progress of the hazy moon through a dirty, dust-clouded window, though the more she drank the more difficult it became to do anything, let alone mark the time. She felt languid and slow; her thoughts came in brief, dull pulses, and bore her gently along. She had left behind circumspection, freed herself of its shackles. She spoke more and laughed more, abandoned the cautious distance from Auruo, and swayed as the wine flowed through her. 

She was not the only one affected; Martin became prone to giggling, Oskar even more grandiose with his gestures and expressions, and Petra was startled to hear him laugh openly when Axel fumbled the bottle of wine, spilling some onto his feet. By contrast, the more wine Wil drank the quieter she became – at times silent for long stretches, so that it was a surprise when she spoke again.

“Are you okay?” Petra asked, leaning close and nearly toppling over as her balance shifted.

Wil steadied her. “’m fine,” she said. “Just tired.”

“You’re never tired.”

She hoped for a witty rebuttal, a return to form, but Wil’s expression was unrecognizably serious. “I’m always tired.”

Had she been sober, Petra would have known exactly what to say to coax a smile back onto her mercurial, heartsore friend’s face. Drunk and wobbling and lost, the only thing she could do now was take Wil’s hand and squeeze it tightly, as Wil had done for her when they travelled through the dark.

“Ah, lamb,” Wil said, tucking a loose strand of hair back behind Petra’s ear. “Don’t give me that sad face.”

“But you’re sad.”

“Just tired. They’re not the same, you know.”

But Petra wondered – for a girl who grabbed life by the ears and shook it hard, sucked it dry before charging ahead to the next diversion, wasn’t exhaustion much like sadness? For a girl like that?

She’d been a girl like that, before she considered things like  _risks_ and  _should._

As the night wore on, the circle closed. Where before they’d maintained careful space from one another, now they inched forward until their knees brushed, and their faces were close enough to touch. She could have reached across the circle and traced Oskar’s cunning, severe features with her fingers. Axel’s hand rested lazily on Oskar’s thigh, and Martin leaned against Auruo’s shoulder, giggling at odd turns. She wondered how Auruo could stand it, being as averse to touch as he was, but he made no sign that he found his situation awkward or uncomfortable; he even laughed when Martin tipped over, sprawling in his lap.

Petra watched, her brows furrowing. An odd, uncomfortable pang of jealousy twisted in her rolling stomach. It was late and she was drunk, and she wanted to climb into Auruo’s lap too. She wanted his arms around her, wanted to see the world from that thrilling, safe place.

She wanted his lips on her neck. His hands on her hips.

They had nearly drained the entire bottle when the light conversation shifted to rougher things; devoid of barriers and fears; relieved of those unruly impulses, they found it easier to speak of heavy matters. Mostly, Petra listened, buffeted by the ebb and flow of conversation, the beloved timbre of each voice, so familiar and lovely.

“So, okay,” Axel was saying. “Shit. I gotta tell you this shit.”

“I bet you don’t,” Auruo said, but he grinned. “You probably shouldn’t. Spare us.”

“Shut up, Boss. You’ll want to hear this.”

“Why’s that.”

“It’s about your friend Gretchen.”

He rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t call her one of my friends. I’d barely call  _you_ one of my friends.”

Wil snickered. For his part, Axel’s wounded expression would be right at home on the stage. “I can’t believe you. And after I tell you constantly I think of you like a brother. A tiny, weedy, annoying little brother.”

Auruo rolled his eyes. “What about Gretchen did you want to tell me?”

“Just that I think her long, futile struggle to capture your attention is over.”

Petra felt her dwindling focus snap on the conversation, on Axel’s mouth, so violently that she thought she might be sick. Auruo, for his part, was skeptical. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“So shut up and I’ll tell you.” Axel flashed him a boozy grin. “She’s moved on. Set her sights on someone else.”

“And you know this how?” Wil snapped. Petra heard the warning in her voice, a raw, razor’s edge. Instinctively, she knew this was a subject Wil kept buried out of shame, because it conflicted with the breezy, confident face she showed to the world. Instantly, the room seemed colder.

“Ah, Wilhelmina. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Petra watched Oskar, as she often did when Axel spoke of his excursions with their female comrades; his cunning face betrayed nothing, and he took a hearty swig of wine before passing it into Martin’s unsteady hands. Wil, by contrast, made no show of her disgust. “Are you serious right now?”

“Why would I lie?”

“Because you’re a stupid brag that figures himself a real lady-killer, when you don’t know the first thing about it.”

And for the first time, Axel’s beatific expression flickered, and a glimpse of real hurt shone through. He hastily reassembled his grin. “I can promise you that I do, actually.”

“I know from experience that you  _don’t.”_ Wil’s features were savage, her eyes glinting like cold steel. Petra saw far too late that her friend had been pushed over some internal threshold, and she wouldn’t stop until exhausted of what festered in her heart. She flinched away from Petra’s consoling hands. “Go ahead. Tell me how it’s done.”

“What?”

“Tell me how you get a girl off. I want to hear this.”

“Geez, Wil,” Auruo muttered, cheeks darkening. “How ‘bout you drink your wine and give it a rest.”

“Nah, you know what? This is something you should probably know too. And Martin. Can’t forget him. Bet even Oskar’ll get some use out of it.” She turned the full force of her blistering, icy glare on Axel. “Come on. Tell us how it’s done, lady-killer.”

“Wil,” Oskar said, eyes wide.

“He doesn’t know,” Wil said to no one in particular. “He thinks it’s just thrusting away at her cunt until he comes. Maybe she feels bad and moans as convincingly as she can, so he’ll hurry up and get it over with. Maybe she tries not to cry, especially if she’s never fucked anyone before, because it’s not supposed to hurt, it’s not supposed to be like this with  _him –_ it’s supposed to be something beautiful and romantic, but instead there’s fucking blood everywhere and she can’t walk right for a week. And he won’t even look at her – he gets up right after and buckles his pants and leaves her in the bloody hay, and after he goes she sits there and cries with the fucking horses, cries like a pathetic twat. And even after he won’t look at her and won’t talk to her, not about what happened – he just makes stupid jokes and runs back to his village, and after a week of that he just stops coming altogether, so she thinks he really fucking did break her. Why else would he do this? Why else would it ruin everything?

“So come on, Axel. Tell me what you’ve learned since you ruined it for me.”

Terrible silence curdled the air between them. “Wil …” Axel said, jovial expression utterly forgotten; he looked at Wil as if he’d never really seen her before, and the reality was too deeply painful to face. Petra couldn’t remember the last time he’d called her by the name she preferred. It probably had never happened before.

“So you don’t just thrust away like a goddamn jackass,” she said over him, her voice trembling and raw, clenching shaking hands in her lap. “You got to warm her up first. She’ll have this little nub above her cunt – you know, that hole you jam your dick into -- and you lick it and suck it and play with it and she’ll go loose for you, and she’ll get wet and come, and it’s a lot better when you fuck her after that. And it’s not some fucking buried treasure or anything – if you open your eyes and look and stop being a self-centered jackass only thinking about your own goddamn dick you’ll see it.”

Tears filled her eyes, but she forged ahead, her voice shaking with restrained sobs. “And maybe if she’s never fucking done it before, you don’t think about yourself and how horny you are and how bad you need it, and you take your fucking time because it’s not like a virgin is going to have a cunt ready for you to just thrust away like it’s a fucking race. And maybe if you do get carried away, don’t just leave her alone in a fucking cummy bloody pile, like she’s dirty now that you fucked her, like she’s ruined. Maybe fucking hold her and tell her you care about her, because it should be true, if you’ve done that shit. It should have been true, god damn it…”

She curled into a ball, knees crushed to her chest, and buried her face in her hands. Petra could hear no sobs, but Wil’s body shook with the force of keeping them at bay. And still no one said a word – no one could, drunk as they were, and lashed by the force of her indictment.

“It  _was_  true,” Axel said finally, and Petra saw that his eyes were bright. “Fuck, I – I didn’t – I was … I was scared. I thought you’d hate me, after that.”

“I  _DID,”_ Wil howled. “Because you  _left.”_

Petra could stand it no longer; her head spun and her thoughts were hazy, but she threw her arms around Wil’s shaking shoulders and held her tightly. She imagined Wil’s hurt as a physical burden, and she would share it, as best she could. Her bare legs were long since frozen by the cold floor, and her knees hurt from kneeling for hours, but she would hold Wil like this as long as she needed. As long as was necessary.

“I’m sorry,” Axel said, quiet. He swayed, drunk and made raw. He seemed younger than Petra had ever seen. “I really am.” And before Petra might have never spoken to him again for what he done, but she could tell he meant this sincerely – he was sorry, he’d done what he did because he was young and scared and stupid, and that was enough to go forward. Just maybe.

Wil gently disentangled herself from Petra’s arms and scrubbed at her red eyes, and when her hands came away from her face she saw flashes of the old Wil, the smirking troublemaker who had no feelings because they were inconvenient and embarrassing. But it was tempered now by everything she’d admitted, everything she’d laid bare. They’d all seen behind the curtain. “I am too.” She swallowed. “Fuck me. I’ve ruined your fun night.”

“Nah, you didn’,” Axel said, nudging her gently.

“You didn’t!” Martin offered. “I learned a lot.”

“Martin,  _geez,”_ Auruo blurted, blushing to the tips of his ears. It took Petra a moment to trace the source of his embarrassment. All that frank talk of sex and female pleasure, probably;  _wet_ and  _thrust_ and  _come._  She felt her own cheeks warm, and she looked away before he could see. It was too dangerous to think about, too much to want.

“What?! I did!” Martin was saying.

“What d’you care, anyway? You think Johanna’s gonna benefit from your newfound expertise or something?”

Martin blanched. “That’s not ..?What?”

Auruo was not impressed. He turned back to Wil and cleared his throat. “You didn’t ruin shit, Wil. Just maybe stop yelling, so we don’t get caught.”

“I deserved it, an’way,” Axel said. “I deserved worse. You could throw my ass out the window and let me fall, and I’d deserve that ten more times.”

A small smile. “Twenty more.”

“There y’go.”

It was perhaps a testament to everything they’d gone through together, and how well they knew one another, that after Wil’s outburst they were able to continue on – instead of awkward silence, the conversation warmed, took off at its regular, familiar pace. And Petra saw, because she had been watching; Axel squeezed her hand and Wil allowed it.  That was all, but it was enough.

As the warm conversation spread, so too did Petra’s haze. She felt herself ease closer to Auruo, inexplicably drawn, captured. She couldn’t remember why she bothered staying away. She’d had enough of it.

And he was straight and steady, not wobbling like the rest of them, but watching with careful eyes. Glancing at her sidelong, his gaze wandering down to her bare legs before darting away, a dark blush coloring his cheeks, his lovely face … She thought of his hands on them, sliding up slowly – trembling, maybe. He’d be nervous. She would be too.

She blinked, and put the thoughts away. This was wrong. There was no place for it.  

Martin perked after a while. “Is there more wine?”

“You drank it all, you lush,” Axel said, grinning. “You n’ Petra.”

“You had some too. And Wil. She’s got wine stains on her mouth.”

“You looking at my lips, Klossner?!” Wil said delightedly. “Like what you see?”

“I was looking at your lips because you have wine stains on them,” Martin said, unperturbed. The days of Martin being easily flustered by Wil’s indiscriminate flirting had long gone.

Auruo snorted, covering his smirk behind one hand.

“Anyway, it’s not like we won’t have chances to do this later,” Martin said.

Wil arched a brow. “Drink wine? Stay up talking late? Yeah, this is pretty much it. It’s not like we can do that shit at training camp.”

“And it’s only a few months,” Axel added, twirling the empty bottle in his massive hands. “Until we split up.”

“Why’re you bringing that up now?” Auruo muttered, with a hasty sidelong glance in Petra’s direction.

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” But Axel did not seem comforted by this fact. “Me and Oskar and Wilhelmina’ll be off to the Military Police. And you three’ll be off to – to the fucking Survey Corps. And you’ll … you’ll –“

“Stop.” She had never heard Auruo speak this way before; and as she studied him, she realized he did not seem as addled as the rest of them. His eyes were clear and hard, his voice like the lash of a whip.

Axel hiccupped sadly. “It’s not gonna change anything.”

“If you’re a sad drunk, why the fuck did you insist we all do this shit?” Auruo demanded. “Getting drunk and having fun, that was your sell. Why are you sitting around and moping about something that you don’t even know will happen?”

Axel regarded the empty bottle miserably. “Because I don’ want you to die.”

“We’re not going to,” Auruo said stubbornly.  

“We might, though …” Martin said; even drunk his voice retained its polished, learned tone. “You can’t know for sure.”

“Geez, Martin.”

“What? Do you want me to tell him we won’t? Because we could.”

Before Auruo could retort Oskar spoke, with such weight that at first Petra didn’t recognize his voice; he so rarely used it, and never for such serious things. “I’m not joining the Military Police,” he said slowly.

Axel spun. “What?!”

There was a long pause as Oskar considered Martin, still wobbling in place at his right. “I’m not.”

“Why?!

Oskar said nothing.

Axel got on his knees and pushed Oskar out of the circle, craning close. “What’s going on, huh?”

Silence; tender

“We talked about this,” Axel hissed. “We – we’ve been talking about it since we were kids.” He continued when Oskar remained silent. “You know! Getting out of our dumpy village, moving to the interior. Serving the King.” He trailed off, eyebrows knitting a nearly straight line over his wounded eyes. “You don’t want that anymore?”

“Is it about serving people?” Oskar asked slowly.

“Y-yeah!”

“Is it?”

Axel mashed his lips together. “So that’s what this is about. You’re joining the Survey Corps.”

Oskar nodded.

“You – you want to – you don’t care if – if you die.”

He nodded again, gently – as if pacing himself would lessen the sting of the truth.

Axel stared, still clutching that empty bottle of wine. He’d been stripped of his jocular affect, his easy charm, both by Wil and now Oskar; what remained was a boy as young and scared as Petra often felt. “Why?”

Oskar said nothing for a long moment, fixing Axel with an even, penetrating stare. “I can do more,” he said finally, grinning.

“More?”

“I can do better.”

No one spoke; howling wind through the rafters punctuated the stunned silence, keening like a chorus in grief. “What about me?” Axel said, almost too quietly to be heard over the din.

“They’ll need me more than you would.” Oskar’s smile was tender. “You know I’m right.”

Axel dropped the empty bottle and pushed a shaking hand through his caramel brown hair, trying to grin. “Whenever you talk, you always knock me on my ass with what you say.”

Oskar shrugged.

After a moment, Axel seemed to steel himself; his charming grin was back in full force – blinding as the sun. “Well, you know this means I’m coming with you.” Jabbed him in the ribs. “So you’ll have to do better for me too.”

Oskar mirrored his friend’s cunning grin. “I would have anyway.”

“What the  _fuck_ ,” Auruo blurted. “What … what the fuck is –“

“You shut up,” Axel said with a hard look, though it didn’t tarnish his smirk. “Haven’t you been lecturing us all on the evils of the MPs for the last three years?”

“Yeah, and I might have kept my mouth shut if I knew you were listening!” Auruo retorted. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?!”

“Quite a bit,” Axel said amicably; seemingly unaffected for a boy whose fate had shifted so drastically in the span of five minutes. “Guess you’re not gonna get rid of us so easily, Boss.”

“It’s not – it’s not something you just decide to do ‘cause you’re bored,” Auruo shot back. “People d—“

“They don’t all die,” Axel shot back. “Isn’t that what you say about yourself, every fucking day? ‘I won’t die! Not me, no sir!’ Huh?”

“You piece of –“

“What if you get into the top ten?” Petra wondered aloud.

“Well, then the Survey Corps’ll be getting some skilled prodigies this year,” Axel said.

“You’re not a prodigy,” Auruo muttered. “You’re an idiot.”

“And I’m fucking good,” Axel shot back. “And so is Oskar. And so are you and Petra. And – and Martin too.”

“You don’t have to humor me,” Martin said, tone dry. “We’ve talked about this.”

“And Wil too, if she changes her mind,” Axel was saying, unconcerned with this clarification. “We’re fucking good. We’re really fucking good. We could, you know – could fight for years, become esteemed vets. Like that Levi guy you talk about.”

“Levi’s a lot better than you, you fuckin’ idiot –“

“I’m not,” Wil said in a strange voice, and almost instantly the squabbling faded. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

Axel looked at her warily; he seemed to realize he’d done something wrong, despite his drunkenness. “I – I didn’ say you had to.”

“Nah, of course not,” she said, hugging her legs close to her chest again. “Fuck. It’s just like I thought.”

Petra scooted close, so intent on Wil that she no longer felt the cold or her scraped knees. “What’s like you thought?” she murmured, slurring a bit. Her head spun – had the room always been so unstable?

“You all – you’re all fucking … good people.” Wil’s lip curled. “Even you, Axel. Even though you’re an idiot. And yeah, even you, Boss. You like to pretend you aren’t, but you are.”

“What the f--?!”

“Would you stop? Just … shut up.”

Petra swallowed the nausea burgeoning at the back of her throat. “Wh…why aren’t you a good person?”

“Because you’re all fucking dead set on joining the suicide branch, because you think you’ll make a difference – because you want to  _do more,_ you want to  _do better,_ or if you’re like Boss you want to make money for your family and fight to keep them safe, or if you’re like you, Lamb, you do it because you think everyone should be free to do what they want, instead of living like rats in a cage. And I just … I don’t care. I don’t care about any of that shit. I don’t.”

“You don’ have to,” Petra said, biting her lip.

“No one’s saying you have to care,” Martin said gently.

“Aren’t you?” Wil shook her head. “I’m not a good person, alright? I’m not like you.”

“Just because you don’t want to join the Survey Corps doesn’t make you a bad person,” Martin said, ever the voice of reason. “You can do a lot of good in the Garrison, and the Military Police.”

Auruo snorted, but before he could say a world Petra jabbed her elbow into his ribs, because if there was ever an inopportune time for his principles mixing with disdain, this was it.

“You don’t understand,” Wil said, fixing her burning stare at some random point over Martin’s shoulder. “I didn’t join the military to do good. I joined to get into the Military Police, so I could eat good food and live a nice rich life. Because I was fucking sick of my trash dump village and my awful fucking family. Like shit will they get a dime of what I earn.”

Auruo stared, disbelieving. “Not even your –?”

“No, Boss. I’m not like you. And my family isn’t like yours.” She trailed off, clenching her hands into shaking fists again; when she drew away, Petra saw stark crescent marks gouged into her palm. “I fucking hate my family. I don’t care about them at all. I didn’t even care when … when my mom died And I still don’t.”

It was Petra’s turn to stare. “Your … mom died?”

“She died last year.” Wil swallowed. “And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t care. And I didn’t want you to care for me, alright? I still don’t. I’m just saying it because you think I’m some … I don’t know. You’re being a lot nicer to me than you should. You’re all a lot better than me.” She hugged her knees tightly to her chest, and a strand of white blonde hair fell into her eyes. “I’m not a good person, alright? And I … I wish I was.”

No one could think of anything to say to this; Petra might have, had she been sober, but her head spun and her stomach curled on itself, struggling under the weight of terrible nausea. She was going to be sick. She hated wine. She hated all alcohol. She loved Wil and ached for her, and at the moment all she could think to say was something so ineffectual that silence would have been far preferable: “I think you’re good.”

Wil didn’t respond to this; instead she got unsteadily to her feet, holding out her hands to keep her balance. “I’m going to bed. Sorry I ruined your little shindig, Axel.” Flashed them a sad approximation of her jackal’s grin. “Maybe ditch the booze night time. It makes us weird.”  

Before anyone could say another word, she strode to the stairs and disappeared. Axel leapt to his feet with an uncharacteristically resolute expression on his handsome face; he stumbled after her, a man possessed with purpose. And the circle was broken.

“Geez …” Auruo muttered, shifting his legs. “I mean – geez.”

“Yeah,” Martin agreed, nodding his head sagely – as he might have done if Auruo had said anything actually illuminating. Only they could have a conversation using nonsense words. Petra mashed her lips together, bile burning in the back of her throat.

“She’s wrong, too,” Auruo said stubbornly. “I don’t pretend to be – I don’t.”

“Of course not,” Martin said.

“I don’t, you asshole!”

But Petra knew Wil had been telling the truth – and buried among the ache she felt, her desperate desire to convince Wil that she was worthy and good, was a truth she knew just as well; that Auruo was kind, even though he pretended not to be, that he was altogether a worthy, intoxicating person, and there was no use pretending: for him to be anything other than his good self, and for her to …

Petra could swallow it no more. She curled uselessly on herself, though she knew the posture wouldn’t do any good, and her hands flew to churning stomach. “I’m going to be sick,” she moaned.

Hardly a heartbeat passed, and she felt Auruo’s hand on her elbow. “Come on.”

“I can’t move …”

“What?”

“I’m dizzy,” she whimpered.

She saw a flash of his hazel eyes, and it was so lovely. He was lovely. “Hold on to me.”

And she did. She held on for dear life.

She was drunk and dizzy and he moved so quickly – he’d always been fast, she knew. Not as fast as she was. She always won their races, except for the day Maria had fallen, the day he’d pinned her, the day she realized that he was more than a simple friend; he occupied a larger space in her. There were voices and he stopped, then silence and he moved, and she didn’t know the reason for it but she trusted him. He moved through the darkness, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, and her stomach curled in sickly, vicious knots, but she liked this. She wanted to stay like this.

“Please don’t puke on me,” he whispered.

“I’m going to be sick,” she moaned again.

“We’re almost there.”

She felt cool air on her face and legs, her bare legs – fuck, she was half naked, clad in a flimsy night dress, the ends of her sweater trailing behind, her bare feet bumping cobblestones. She didn’t see where they were, and she wasn’t even properly aware of him anymore; just the bite of his hands at her waist, burning bile in the back of her throat, the wine as it exacted its revenge, coming up the way it had gone down –

She doubled over and vomited more than she ever had in her life. Tears pricked at her eyes, streamed down her blazing cheeks, and in between retches she whimpered miserably – too drunk to be humiliated, but that was coming – god, was it. It took her a moment to realize that he was rubbing her back, and had pulled her messy braid out of her face, so she wouldn’t get vomit in her hair.

“Shh…” he said. “You’re fine.”

“Auruo,” she sobbed.

“Just get it up.”

She vomited again.

He hated touching, and was probably afraid of touching her, but he did so now; he soothed, he hummed. He rubbed her back slowly, his strong hands gentle, and she loved him – she loved him so much it made her sick. In the haze of the wine, and the throes of its revenge, her principled stand seemed foolish; the railing of a child against the inevitable.

She couldn’t be sure, but she even thought he sang her song:

" _Il y a longtemps que je t'aime_ _  
__Jamais je ne t'oublierai."_

“What does it mean?” she whimpered, just before another volley tore past her throat.

“It means get it all up.”

It felt like a thousand years had passed when her stomach finally emptied, and she slumped against him, felt his arm wrap around her waist again. She probably would have collapsed in the puddle of her own vomit had he not been there to catch her. “Better?” he asked, reflexively tucking some loose hair behind her ear.

She nodded, wiped her mouth. “I think …”

“We’ll sit out here until you’re sure.”

“You can go …” she mumbled, feeling awkward. “So you don’ get in trouble.”

“That ship has sailed,” he said wryly. “Come on, nag. The fresh air’ll help settle your stomach.”

He guided her to a clean spot in the alley and set her on a crate, clambering up next to her before she could ask. And he was right – the fresh air was helping, not only her stomach but her swirling head, those churning thoughts.

“God,” he said, shaking his head. “Why’d you drink so much, Petra?”

“I drank the same as everyone,” she protested.

“You drank half that bottle.”

She didn’t remember that. “Not that much.”

“Close, then. Why’d you drink so much if you can’t handle alcohol?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I didn’t notice.”

“Alright, well … try and notice next time, huh?”

She wasn’t so far gone not to fix him with a look. “Who’s the nag now?”

He tried to scowl, but his lips quirked in the shape of a grin – that grin she loved, just one piece of the whole. “That’s right, laugh about it. I’m just … I was just – fuck. I was worried about you, you stupid nag. You were looking pretty bad toward the end.”

“I didn’t notice until Wil ran off.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you don’t notice anything about yourself when someone else is upset.”

“That’s not true.”

“It sure as hell is.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I am, huh … you know, sometimes I think I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Well, I  _know_  that I know you better than you know yourself.”

He shook his head, but he was smiling, and she couldn’t look away. There were no stars tonight and a hazy moon peeked from behind a veil of clouds, but she thought his smile was so beautiful that it gave off its own light, filled the alley. Made it day. She was still fairly drunk, so these thoughts were excusable.

He caught her stare. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, her braid flopping stupidly over her shoulder, and struggled to find an excuse. “I’m cold.”

 “That sweater not doing its job?”

“It’s still cold,” she complained; so stupidly transparent. 

“I –“

“You’re warm.”

He seemed to struggle with himself, but after a moment he carefully put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She settled against his chest, savored his inexplicable warmth – for all he wore was a pair of linen pants and shirt, and his feet were bare too. His toes looked ice blue in the odd moonlight.

“You have blond hair on your feet,” she murmured, half muffled by him.

“You have freckles on yours.”

She tucked her legs under her rear, flushing. “Don’t make fun of my freckles.”

“I’m not! I like them.”

She craned up to look at him, noting his blush. “You do?”

He did not look pleased with himself for having admitted this. “Geez, Petra.”

They were quiet for a long while. Slowly, she warmed – that odd, familiar excitement buzzing in her arms and legs, her fingers, that warmth settling in her chest. His fingers skimmed the curve of her back, brushing knitted wool, as if still trying to coax the sickness out of her. She was still hazy from the drink, but it almost felt as if she had thrown her lines, set them aside, and now she melted into him. It was nice –it was lovely. He was.

She thought of him stroking her back, and thought of her father doing the same for her mother. It was when she was still healthy, and they thought that she was having another baby.  _A little brother or sister, won’t that be wonderful?_ Petra had liked the idea. She’d prayed for it. But in the mornings, her mother would hunch in front of their washbasin and make terrible retching sounds, her hands curling on either side of porcelain, and her father would stay beside her until she was finished. It’s because of the baby, they told Petra, and that had given her pause; is it a good thing if it makes you so sick?

The haze was fading, and her stomach calmed, and embarrassment took its place; she’d made a fool out of herself tonight, in so many ways that she could hardly count them. She  _was_  a fool, and there wasn’t much hope for them. “I’m never drinking again.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” he said, grinning. “Else you’ll wind up back in an alley, puking your guts out.”

“Why aren’t you drunk?” she asked him, craning up to look him in the eye. “I saw you drinking.”

“I wasn’t actually drinking,” he said with a shrug. “I just put it up to my mouth and kept my lips shut, maybe swallowed a bit to make it look convincing, in case anyone was looking. But they were all watching everyone else carry on and yell and make idiots out of themselves.”

She flinched back, hurt. “You think I was an idiot.”

He rubbed her back with a little more vigor now. “Nah, I think … well, you were probably acting the least idiotic out of everyone there.”

“Is that why you didn’t want to drink?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

“Why, though?”

“Petra, come on …”

“I want to know.”

His expression darkened. “There was a guy in my neighborhood that drank a lot, and he’d hit his wife when he did. She was a real small, meek lady too, and it just … god, I hated that piece of shit. He was a fuckin’ loser – pissed that he was poor and he had a family and a wife when he wanted to piss away all his wages at the bar, getting drunk to forget his shit pile life instead of trying to do something with it. And I’m not … I’m not saying I think I’d go around beating people if I got drunk, but it messes with something, I always see it take something in some way, and I just … I don’t like it.” He swallowed. “Who knows what stupid shit I’d say if I drank.”

“You mean, who knows what stupid shit you’d  _admit_.”

He looked at her for a long time, and it was as if he could see her meaning – made explicit by the fact that he  _did_  know her, often better than she knew herself. “Yeah, something like that:”

She curled back into his side, shivering. It was cold; Novembers in Karanese were miserable, and she wasn’t wearing shoes or pants. Her skin looked blue in the moonlight, her toes long since gone numb. But she didn’t want to go inside, because she knew as soon as the excuse of drunkenness faded she’d have to slip out of his arms and go back to her resolution to keep him at a distance, to regard him as a comrade and friend, but no more. And the thought of doing so now, after everything, was painful in a way she didn’t know how to express.

She couldn’t say thank you, and she couldn’t tell him she loved him, so much that it didn’t seem possible, and couldn’t admit that she was scared out of her mind – she couldn’t do anything that would ruin this last moment, before their return to normal life. So instead she curled closer to him and savored his warmth, the solid muscle of his stomach under her fingers, the lean line of his thigh against hers. He was so beautiful, and so good. She loved him. God, how she did.

“Next time we’re here, it’ll be for disbandment,” he said. “The night before we pledge.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

She could have been imagining it, and in some cowardly place she hoped that she was, but she thought his arm tightened around her waist. They would have to leave, and train, and continue on separately, but for now she would allow this. She was drunk, after all. It was okay, just for now.


	21. Chapter 21

Auruo buried his face in his cloak just as a gust of wind tore through the compound, nearly tugging the ends of the green fabric out of his hands, between which he held a steaming cup of tea. There was sunlight, he supposed, but it hid behind a cover of thick grey clouds, churning with the promise of a storm. Dead leaves skittered across the ground, caught in a whirlwind before scattering.

The grounds were empty; most of their class took shelter in their barracks and the common halls available, and on any normal rest day Auruo might be among them, wedged in a corner with his friends, their circle impenetrable by the stares and desires of those outside. He might be looking at Petra across from him, watching her slim fingers curl around those copper strands and wanting so badly to do the same with his own hands.

She’d been acting oddly since two nights ago, when they’d all made fools of themselves around a bottle of wine. He could have dismissed her behavior as the result of a hangover, but something did not quite fit. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if her withdrawn affect was less the result of physical discomfort, and more the product of potent melancholy.

And he worried. He worried about her. Petra was bright and good and honest; she was kind and passionate, intense when it came to their circumstances, the plights of underdogs and always, over the eventuality of their decision to join the Survey Corps. He didn’t know what could have dulled her, but whatever it was he’d help, if he could. Her unhappiness made him unhappy.

Wil despised this tendency of theirs. “It’s bad enough when one of you is in a shitty mood,” she was prone to grumble.

Tucking his hands inside his cloak, he surveyed the grounds. On the horizon, a break in the clouds loomed, near-sunset peeking through. Yet the cold breeze did not abate; if anything, the cold was all the worse in teasing distance of sunlight. But he thought tonight they might be able to see stars.

The longer he lurked out here without drinking his tea, the less appetizing it became, until at this point he’d just have to tromp back to mess hall and brew himself another cup. As he contemplated taking shelter in the barracks, he caught sight of Petra – cloak bunched in her fists, copper hair billowing around her drawn features, brows knitted low. She quickly climbed the steps of the stilted pavilion on the edge of grounds, the ends of her cloak whipping out of sight. So he followed, sloshing a bit of lukewarm tea over his hands in his haste.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he found her huddled in the corner, her knees drawn to her chest, head resting atop crossed arms. She looked up when she heard him approach.

“H-hey,” he said. As always, meeting her gaze sent a hot jolt of feeling through him, and made his already questionable command of language even more pitiable. “I, ah … d’you want some company?”

He thought she might refuse, as she looked more miserable that he’d first assumed, but after a moment she nodded. “I’d like that,” she said, and she gave him a small smile. He knew this smile – he was intimately familiar with all her expressions, and this one in particular was completely for his benefit.

“Good. I – I mean, okay.” He cursed himself for stumbling – it wasn’t like acting weird would help matters -- and took a seat next to her, careful to maintain a circumspect distance, though at the moment he’d have liked nothing more than chafe some warmth back into her, share a little of his.

“Thanks,” she said, still with that sad smile.

“I have some … I --I wasn’t gonna drink it.” Lamely, he held out the lukewarm cup of tea to her. “I mean … it’s probably cold. I can go make you another one, if you want. Or –“

“You made that for yourself,” she cut in.

“Nah, I – I mean I did, but I don’t want it anymore. So you’re not – I mean, you should –“ He trailed off, furious at how stupid he sounded.

But she took the proffered cup, and this time her smile was less a mask. “Thank you, Auruo.” Bit her lip in a way that was far too charming. “I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

He’d willingly be ridiculous every day of his life, if it meant she’d forget whatever made her sad. “Ah … good. Yeah.”

They sat in silence while she sipped the cold tea. The wind howled above their heads, but the walls of the pavilion kept them relatively warm. Though it might have been her proximity, the need he felt when he lingered too close for too long, the need that would pursue him in dreams. He swallowed, fisting his hands deeper into the folds of his cloak.

“Are you nervous?” she asked him, pursing her lips against the taste.

“W-what?”

“About your score.”

“Oh, that. Ha. Yeah – yeah, I guess.” He barely remembered the test, or his own performance. “We’ll find out tomorrow, at least.”

“Yeah. I’m nervous too,” she admitted softly. “I don’t think it’ll make much difference to the Survey Corps. You know, since they’re probably desperate for anyone that will join. And they’d want whoever joins to be skilled, of course, but they know most if not all of the top ten students will join the Military Police. So they make do with whoever is brave enough to volunteer. And I know that.”

“Yeah.”

“But I still want to do well,” she whispered.

“You will,” he assured her. “You do well already.”

“You’re biased,” she said, and her smile lost its genuine edge, became sad again. “I don’t think I’ll be a very good soldier.”

He stared at her for a few moments too long, unable to process a response. “You’re …  _what?”_

“I don’t think I’ll be a good soldier.”

“Yeah, I got that. Why?”

She shrugged, and shot him an uncomfortable look before burrowing more deeply in the fabric of her cloak.

“You can’t just say wrong shit like that and drop it.”

“It’s not wrong,” she argued quietly. “I really don’t think I will. I’m already … I’m already messing it up.”

“Are you kidding me?! You – you score better than almost all our classmates. You’re always … you were amazing two days ago.”

“Auruo …”

“You were! Look, you know I’m an asshole. You say it all the time.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Just let me get this out, dammit.” He shifted closer, suddenly desperate for her to leave this odd melancholy behind. "I’d rather break my neck than work with most of our peers, you know? They’re terrible, they’re stupid. They don’t have that …” He snapped his fingers, searching for the word. “Fuck. They don’t have – it’s not brains. It’s like they don’t have that instinct – they don’t have whatever it is that makes you fast, and good at dodging, and knowing where to go when you have to. Good at getting out of a bad situation. And you do. I think you do.”

“ _I_  think you’re just being nice.”

“I’m not _nice_.”

“Yeah, you are,” she said, fixing him with a penetrating stare, and his stomach flopped weakly as her amber eyes met his. He suddenly registered how close they were, and how much closer he wanted to be. “And besides, it takes more than good instincts to be a good soldier.”

“Does it now?” he retorted peevishly.

“Yes. Of course. There’s probably been lots of people who had good instincts and ended up being bad soldiers anyway.”

“Is this why you’ve been so upset lately?”

“I haven’t been upset lately.”

“Yeah, you have.” He frowned at her. “All these pained smiles, like you don’t want people to notice you’re miserable.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Who’s the one that actually has to look at your face?” He jabbed his thumb at his chest. “Me. And I’m telling you; your whole bravely suffering thing is not as subtle as you think.”

“I don’t do that!” she insisted, flushing irritably.

“Yeah, you do! Two minutes ago I came up here, and you were obviously upset – and yeah, it's fuckin' obvious  – but you were still trying to smile because you didn’t want me to worry. You don’t even notice you’re doing it.”

Her blush deepened. “Why are you looking so closely?”

 _Shit._ He scrambled for an answer, feeling his own cheeks warm. “I—I don’t even have to! Geez, Petra. How long have I known you?”

“Right …” She looked away again, burying her face in the cowl of her cloak, but he could still see the tinge of pink staining her cheeks, the top of her nose. An errant thought shot through his mind; it was beautiful, just as she was beautiful, and he wanted to brush his thumb over that soft skin. He wanted to do many things with her, some of which were highly inappropriate and all of which were impossible. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you worry.”

“You haven’t,” he lied; maybe the more he said it, the less dishonest it would become. “I – I mean … yeah, I’m – look, you’ve been upset lately, and don’t bother denying it because I fuckin’ – it’s just obvious, okay? Maybe you can lie to the others, but …”

“But not you,” she said, slightly muffled by the fabric of her cloak.  

He couldn’t think of anything to say anything to this. He watched her instead; brows knitting, her eyes catching the fading daylight. Wisps of hair pulled free from her braid, haloed her wind-chapped features, her reddened nose dipping into the scruff of her cloak.

Finally, she let out a trembling breath. “I don’t suppose I can keep this from you anymore.”

Another odd jolt shot through his unsteady stomach; he got a thrill of premonition in the way she spoke, the heaviness in her words, the heaviness it lent to her. This was a burden, whatever she held, and it infused the storm-tossed air. He swallowed. “Keep what from me?”

He watched as she picked at her thumbnail, chewing resolutely on her lower lip. If anything, the blush staining her cheeks deepened. “We’ve wanted to join the Survey Corps for ages,” she said distantly. “Since we were kids. Since before we even met, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What made you want to join? What was the first thing that made you want to join?”

He considered for a moment, eyeing her nervously. “Same thing that makes every stupid kid want to join, I guess. I saw them pass through, on their way to the eastern edge of Maria before it fell, and – I mean, you know. To a kid …”

“They’re heroes,” she finished for him. “Yes. You looked at them, just like I did, and saw something better than the average person, or even the average soldier. You saw people willing to sacrifice for the good of many – bravely going out into the unknown, to face their deaths and possibly meet them, for the good of humanity. For the  _glory,_ they like to say, but it’s better than that – it’s for the  _good_. And I wanted to be a part of that. Almost as soon as I understood what it really was they were doing. I wanted to be a part of that.”

“You will,” he assured her.

She didn’t respond to this. “You see those Survey Corps soldiers and you know they just have to … you know they put so much of their lives aside. You’d have to, don’t you think? You can’t go into it like a normal person.”

“What d’you mean by normal?” It took him a moment for him to notice that she was trembling. He shifted closer. “Hey, hey – you okay?”

She shook her head. “Normal people,” she continued stalwartly. “They can’t ever be normal people. You wouldn’t be able to, seeing the things they see. You’d be … you’d be wrong if you could still carry on like a civilian after coming back from an expedition. Because anytime you go out beyond the Walls, you’re risking your life and you’re – you’re making a gamble. Maybe this time you’ll die. Maybe this time it’ll be someone you care about that dies. And maybe you’ll see them go. Maybe it’ll be a friend, or a …

“And that’s why,” she continued, trembling harder now. “That’s why they have the fraternization regulations. You know? Because we’re not going to be normal people in the Survey Corps – we’re going to be soldiers, and you can’t just go around doing whatever you want and taking – taking stupid risks with whoever you want. Because maybe they die on the next expedition and then what? Or maybe the fact that you’re so wrapped up in each other is responsible for your failure in the first place? Instead of thinking about your duty you’re thinking about them. I mean, I … I know it’s … or maybe you – you see them die and it … maybe it’s like when you see someone upset me, and you just blindly rush ahead trying to make it right instead of thinking about the smartest course of action. And then the Corps is out two good soldiers, where they might have only been out one if you’d just … if we’d done what we’re supposed to do. If we’d been good soldiers and … and put those things away. ”

He blinked, feeling vague. “W-what are you talking about?”

“I’m not a good soldier,” she whispered, shivering hard. “I can’t put it away. I – I tried, in the beginning. I really did. I’ve been trying. But I don’t want to anymore.”

“Put  _what_ away?!”

She looked up at him, and he saw her eyes were full of tears. She swiped them away angrily. “How – how I feel about you.”

He couldn’t breathe. He was breathing, probably, but there was no air in his lungs. There was no air in the entire world.  _“What?”_

She brushed at her cheeks again, more gently this time, but did not look away; he thought he saw a measure of resolve coalesce in those lovely amber eyes. “How I feel about you.”

This defied explanation; surely, he must have heard wrong. He swallowed the wild hope that had sprouted in his chest, the eager warmth that always flared to life with only the smallest bit of encouragement. He had to be rational, and for once not get his stupid hopes up. “I …mean, we’re, ah … friends. Right?”

“Yes, of course. But it’s … more than that. It’s – I …” She turned away, her blush clashing violently with her hair. “I think about you all the time. When you – in the closet, I – I wanted that. I wanted more of that. I think about that all the time, Auruo.”

_He couldn’t breathe._

“And that’s what I mean, okay? That’s … not how you do things, if you’ve decided to give your life for the good of all. If I was a good soldier I’d put that away –I’d do my duty.”

“That’s –“

“How good can I be if I’m not even a member of the Survey Corps yet, and already I’m thinking about breaking their rules? They’re set down for a reason! You – if you face death as often as they do, you have to be smart. You can’t let yourself get carried away lo – caring about a person. You can’t spend all day thinking about them and wanting them and – and  _needing_ them. You can’t think about sneaking off just to be with them, so you can listen to the things they say and touch them as much as you want. You especially can’t do this or think this beyond the Walls. It’s – it’s so  _stupid._ I spent my whole life wanting to be a Survey Corps soldier and now I … I haven’t even said my vows yet and I can’t do it right.”

He couldn’t listen to her talk about herself like this. “Wha—geez, Petra! You think you’re the only one to ever … geez! You think they all just stop being people the minute they take their vows?”

“Yes,” she argued fiercely. “They have to – why wouldn’t they? They’re not just people anymore; they’re soldiers. That’s what you’re supposed to do when you become a soldier; you’re supposed to put others before yourself.”

“Not like that!” he blurted. “Geez! You think – I – god, are you gonna tell me that I’d be a shitty soldier because I – “

“Because you what?”

His flush deepened. “Because you’re wrong! I’m not – I wouldn’t … fuck, I was just going to keep it – I –  _fuck_.”

“But that’s what I’m saying,” she insisted, and she was so close, too close; near enough that he could have ducked his head slightly and kissed her. “The veterans, I bet they don’t do stuff like this. They just … they close themselves off. They have to, so they don’t lose their minds. When people die.”

“I don’t get you!” he blurted, his voice swallowed by the wind whistling above their heads. “Since when do you think dying is an inevitable outcome? You’ve always –“

“Because it’s likely,” she said, burying her face in her cloak. “Because that’s what happens to everyone.”

“Not everyone!”

“Auruo …”

“I get it now,” he said, staring hard at her. “This is what’s going on. Because you’re not – you’re not like this. This whole thing – that’s what  _I_ do. And I’m good at it, really fuckin’ good. I’d keep doin’ it, if you – if you decided you didn’t want it… but you’re not. You’re terrible at it.”

“And you’d know, right?” she snapped.

“Yeah, I think I would! You’re the one who goes on and on about how having faith is the only way we’ll keep our heads up, and you’re the one who gets excited when it’s sunny or the mess serves up your favorite dinner, or when you hear a fuckin’ birdcall you like. You – you get excited about things. About everything. And it’s – it’s amazing. And you hope for things. And that’s why I – I mean, fuck. I don’t understand why you’re – why are you --?”

“Because I don’t want anything to happen to you!” she shouted. “Okay?! God, Auruo! I don’t! I know that if I were to – if I were to decide that I didn’t care about the regs and just – then I’m responsible for what happens to you, when you’re not thinking, when you’re – if something happened to me, or to you, and –“ She trailed off, her hands trembling frantically in her lap. “Choosing something else isn’t an option. I’m joining the Survey Corps, and you are too, and I just … I don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t want to be the reason something happens to you. If something did, I …”

He watched her, and the truth of this sank in slowly; spreading from a warmth in his chest through his buzzing limbs, his thoughts. He felt drunk and stupid and slow next to her, and oddly guilty that she should have suffered so much on his behalf, for something that he reciprocated so fully, so completely.

“And I just … I’m telling you because …” She closed her eyes. “You are right, about me. Trying to keep it quiet made me miserable. I don’t want anything to happen to you, but I’m – I’m selfish, and I … I can’t do what’s right. I’m sorry …”

He struggled for the right words to say, because this was just as wrong. And maybe he was being stupid, and maybe she had a point – maybe they’d join the Survey Corps and change their minds about this after returning from a few expeditions, but now – right now, in this safe corner of the world, he couldn’t let her go on thinking something that made her miserable.

Clumsily, he took her hand. She jumped slightly when the contact registered, and he felt the same shiver alight down his spine, shudder in his own fumbling hands. He was terrible at putting this into words; all he’d done so far was make her feel worse. But for once there was too much to swallow, too many crashing thoughts crowding on his tongue, and he couldn't keep it down anymore. 

He had no idea what he was doing. This was worse than the closet – at least then he had desire and instinct guiding him along, giving him a vague idea of the right direction. Here, he had nothing but the need he’d wrestled down for years, and her small, warm hand in his.

She was trembling. Her gaze dropped to her lap, cheeks flushed, lips pursed, her fine brows knitted together. Some bright auburn hair had come loose from her braid to frame either side of her face – that face he saw even when sleeping, even when otherwise dead to the world.

He didn’t know what to say or do, so the impulse arose organically, without conscious thought or reason. Just as she rocked forward to leave, he brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her palm, to the scar stitched across -- their promise from all those years ago.

His eyes drifted closed. She had hands like he did – like any soldier; rough, callused at the base of the fingers from their gear. For a moment, he thought he’d made another miscalculation because she did not seem to move or breathe. But just as he’d resigned himself to another awkward stretch of months for overstepping his bounds, her fingers curled against his cheek. He heard her breath catch, and he opened his eyes to look at her.

 “Look, Petra,” he said, willing his shaking hands to steady. “Even if you kept it quiet and kept it all in a little box, and we went and joined the Survey Corps, and – I don’t know. Didn’t have feelings, like good soldiers, I’d … I’d still be too wrapped up. That just … that’s how it is. For me. Okay? It’s been like that and it’ll keep being like that, and I don’t know how to stop it from being like that. I don’t  _want to_  know.” He pushed back his hair with his free hand. “This is so fuckin’ backwards.  _You’re_  usually the one trying to talk me into some crazy thing, and – I mean, I’m not trying to talk you into something! And I don’t think it’s – I don’t think it’s crazy. Well, I do. It is fuckin’ crazy, but I’m – what I meant was –“

She placed one finger against his lips, and he fell silent. He studied her; the miserable cast to her expression had disappeared, and now she was resolute. Yet there was a softness there too, a kind of tenderness that he had seen so many times over the years, potent and beautiful, a kind he had learned to need.

She leaned close. Brushed his face with her fingers, tracing the lines, and a surge of sensation arose where her skin met his. “Petra –“ he tried to say, but she shook her head, and he fell silent. He licked his lips and swallowed hard, and tried to breathe with lungs that no longer seemed to work. He prayed that this time he wouldn’t fuck things up.

When her lips brushed his, he made an embarrassing sound – half gasp, half groan. It was too much, far more than he’d had any right to expect in his miserable life, and he was overwhelmed with the sudden reality; Petra kissing him, so close that she was a blur between his eyes, indistinct yet solid. This was no dream. With a shuddery intake of breath, he cupped her neck and deepened the kiss.

And it had only been a few months since the closet, but it felt like he was kissing her again for the first time in decades. It was everything.

“Would it really not have made a difference?” she whispered when she broke away.

He let out a shaky, stupid laugh. “Are you serious? I’m –“  _Stupid for you. Crazy about you. I can’t breathe right when you do this. I can’t breathe right when you look at me or touch me or laugh at something, or smile. I’m not even sure I’m awake right now._ He bit the side of his tongue and tried to get a hold of himself. “No."

“Auruo …” And she kissed him again, less gently now; there was need in her shaking hands on either side of his face, need in the way her soft lips moved against his. She pulled him close and thrust her hands in his hair, and he made that embarrassing sound again. He couldn’t help it.

“We have to be better than perfect,” she said between kisses. “Okay?”

“Okay, he said breathlessly, and he gripped her shoulder, slid up to her neck and down again. There was too much of her, and he didn’t have enough hands.

“Beyond reproach.”

“Right.”

“I mean it,” she told him seriously. “I don’t want this to be the reason …”

“It won’t,” he promised her, and he shivered when her lips grazed the corner of his mouth. “God, Petra …”

She closed her eyes and brought her shaking hands to his face, and he lived a thousand years in that touch. “I – I’m not going to be a bad soldier.”

“You won’t be,” he said, tucking that loose strand of hair behind her ear, and it wasn’t just an attempt to placate her; he believed it, more than he believed anything. “We won’t be.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“We’ll be the best,” he said, pressing the words to cheek.

“Okay.”

“They’ll all talk about us. Just like they talk about Levi.”

And a miracle; she giggled. “’They’?”

“Everyone. Those – those fuckin’ gossips we’ll be breaking our backs to protect.”

“I don’t care about being recognized,” she said, shifting closer against him. “I want to do good. As much good as I can.”

He couldn’t help a grin, not even when she kissed his smirking mouth. “Of course you do…” And he was stupid, drunk on the feel of her lips and the sudden, impossible direction his life had taken in such short amount of time, but he almost said it:  _That’s what caught me._

_~_

And she was kissing him, and he was kissing her, and he forgot everything else. They both laughed a little when it got hard to breathe and they had to break apart for air, or when one got overzealous and bumped noses or teeth. He didn’t care that he was awkward and clumsy, pathetically boyish; for once, he didn’t care about what it looked like or how it seemed.

_~_

At one point, she clambered into his lap, and he made that gasp groan again, this time against her parted lips. For one brief moment her hands fisted hard in the fabric of his cloak, before they slipped inside, skimming over the planes of him, endless untouched stretches, quivering now for the feel of her fingers.

“You’re shaking,” she said.

“So’re you,” he managed.

She said nothing; instead, she trailed her nose along the line of his jaw, and he shuddered so badly that she nearly pitched off his lap. And he caught a flash of her smile, and with it came a heady swell of realization. She wanted him; somehow, in defiance of all that he knew about life, she needed him.

~

He’d known her for years, and could conjure the sight of her behind his eyelids in a second. But now he was presented with this final dimension, a side of her he’d wanted and forced himself to avoid. Now, he learned how the shape of her, the exact angle of her shoulders under his shuddering palms, the softness of her neck, plane and curve mingled to form Petra as a whole. Far more than the sum of her parts.

And she learned him in the same way: brushing his face with her thumbs, pushing back his hair, kissing his jaw and ear, savoring every part of him that she could reach with her lips.

He cursed the cold, and the necessity of cloaks.

~

“Do you want to go back inside?” she whispered, much later. His lips were raw from kissing.

“No,” he breathed, his hands tightening on her hips. “Do you?”

He felt her smile against his mouth. “I never want to go back inside.”

Another twist, another curl; he was odd and giddy, a breath away from laughing, if only he had any breath to spare. “Ha …”

 

~

It was dusk when they finally broke apart.

This proved to be a challenge. She pulled away first, and laughed at his grumpy expression, kissing the lines on either side of his mouth. And they carried on until he pulled away, and had to kiss her sad mouth and furrowed brows. It was ridiculous and pathetic, and he’d never been happier to be ridiculous and pathetic.

Yet, somehow, they managed to disentangle themselves. He managed to stand on boneless legs, before helping her to her feet. And the feel of her hand in his was just as amazing; perhaps more so now that he knew he was allowed. That it was welcome.

“Come on,” she said. “It’s curfew.”

“Fuck curfew.”

She swatted him.

It was not a long trek to the barracks, but they tried to walk slowly; anything to postpone the inevitable. They were bartering minutes, just minutes longer; he wouldn’t be picky. He took half steps, and she giggled at the sight – a gangly, lanky, long-legged boy shuffling along with his shoulders slumped. And he grinned too, because he liked to make her laugh.

They reached her barracks first. Inside he could see the lit lanterns and hear the chattering of girls, their voices blending with the sounds of approaching nightfall. But before he would wish her a good night, she grabbed him by the front of his cloak and dragged him to the side of the building. And, her eyes blazing with need, kissed him soundly.

Still nervous, yet slow, he slipped one arm around her waist and caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and he felt her breath catch. There might have been another gust of wind, and it might have been sunset; he didn’t notice or care. He was aware only of her lips, and her hands, and how incredible it was to do this, how incredible it was to kiss Petra. How incredible she was.

 


	22. Chapter 22

That night, Petra hardly slept. Wil’s raspy breathing usually put her right to sleep, but tonight Petra lay on her side and listened to the doleful hooting of an owl from somewhere deep within the forest. Both were unable to rest. Every few minutes, she would touch her lips, still tingling and swollen from kissing.

She trembled, and Wil’s arm tightened around her middle. It was freezing in the barracks – each exhale billowed out like a puff of smoke, and the tip of her nose had gone numb hours ago – but it wasn’t the cold that made her bones shiver, that alighted down her spine and spread through already buzzing limbs.

A gust of wind whistled through the rafters above their heads, and Wil nestled closer, burying her face between Petra’s shoulders. And Petra thought of Auruo half the compound away, submerged in blankets, messy hair spilling over his brow. She wanted to sneak through the darkness and slip into his bunk, wrap herself around him, above or below, anywhere as long as it was close. She wanted his breath to warm her skin and his hands to trail heat from waist to hip, from shoulders to wrists to her neck; two burning palms, cupping her pulse.

Instead, she pulled her blankets tighter around her shoulders and buried her face in her pillow, and let the possibility of him warm her.

~

By sunrise, she’d managed maybe a couple hours of rest at most, but instead of drooping with exhaustion, elation made her bright. This sudden return to the person she’d been years ago felt much like putting on a comfortable pair of shoes; she was excitable, intense, and deeply sunk in the landscape of what she felt, and it was so natural.

Wil noticed, of course. She arched a brow as Petra dressed.  “What’s gotten into you?”

Petra jerked a shoulder, settling her skirt over her hips and shrugging into the thickest cardigan she owned. 

“You’re smiling,” Wil said. “You were smiling last night and you’re smiling right now.” She peered closer. “You probably smiled the whole night. What happened?”

“I’m just happy,” Petra said.

“Happy  _why?”_

There was no use keeping anything from Wil, not to mention doing so felt unnatural. She knew she had to be circumspect, but Wil could be trusted to keep it secret; she had kept so many other secrets, with never a word spoken otherwise. Beaming, she slipped her arm through Wil’s and pulled her close, leaning to whisper. “Auruo and I.”

“Auruo and you what.”

“Auruo and I!”

That did it. Will drew back, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

Petra nodded and bit her lip against the magnitude of her smile, which threatened by the minute to take over her entire face.

“You fucked! Oh my god,  _finally._ I wondered where the fuck you stupid assholes were yesterday.”

Petra blinked, a flush heating her cheeks. “We didn’t sleep together.”

“No?”

“No! Where could we have?”

“There’s a lot of decent nooks scattered around,” Wil said with a devious smirk. “I’ll share a couple, if you’re nice to me.”

Petra’s flush deepened. “That’s not… god. I was just … I was going to tell you that we kissed. And we’re going to … we’re –“

“You’re a thing,” Wil said. 

“Yes. Exactly.”

Wil’s smile became genuine, and it transformed her cunning features into something lovely. “ _Finally.”_

They were running late this morning, so they slung their cloaks around their shoulders and hurried out into the bracing cold. The brief respite from sunless autumn had passed; what little light they’d enjoyed yesterday was obscured once again by thick grey clouds, yet Petra hardly noticed. She hurried across the compound to their classroom, her heart beating a nervous rhythm in the back of her throat.

“Next time don’t oversleep,” Wil muttered at her back.

“It’s not like I meant to.”

“You sure? Means you can’t stay up all night making dumbstruck faces at the ceiling.” Wil flashed her a sharp grin. “Thinking about his  _lips_ and his  _hands_ and those little sounds I bet he makes.”

“For your information, I slept on right my side last night,” Petra returned with great dignity. “And the rest is none of your business.”

“Everything’s my business, lamb. Everything about you.”

“You’re so nosy.”

“I’ve earned the right,” Wil retorted. “After watching your stupid little dance for the last few years? I’ve earned the goddamn right.”

“Oh yes, it must have been so terrible for you.”

They quieted and stepped into the classroom. A quick scan within loosened the anxious breath Petra had been holding; their instructor had not yet arrived, and in the back corner, saving the two best seats in the room, was Auruo.

He visibly brightened when he caught sight of her, which said a lot about his feelings; she was windswept and her cheeks were chapped, and the strands of hair that had pulled loose from her hastily-done braid frizzed at the crown of her head like a circlet of brambles. She looked ridiculous, but he looked at her like she was the opposite of ridiculous, like he’d been waiting for her, and now that she was here he could breathe.

She sank into her seat, unconsciously mirroring his grin. For a moment, all they could do was smile at each other like idiots. She thought of the night before as a moment beyond reality; with a few hours of distance between it had become mythic, the beginning of her own golden age. Only when he ducked his head, a familiar blush coloring his face, did she look away too.

“Missed you at breakfast,” he said.

“You missed me?” she grinned, nudging his foot with hers.

He tried to shrug, but his smile ruined the blasé effect. “Eh.”

“You did.”

After shooting her a look up from under his curly fringe, he rummaged through his cloak pocket, producing a roll he’d wrapped in a napkin. “I figured you’d be hungry.”

She took the roll, folding it quickly between her hands. He was always doing little things like this for her, but she had only just realized the sentiment that hid behind each act. He thought of her; he  _cared_  about her. “Thank you,” she said, brushing her thumb over the tough crust and wishing she could do so to his hand.

“Ah, geez,” he shrugged. “It’s not – it’s nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing, she thought as she stood with the rest of the class to greet the instructor, murmuring salutations that the rest of her peers shouted and clutching the roll in the fist behind her back. But she did not watch Instructor Hall smooth the map of the known world on the back wall. She studied Auruo; his strong jaw, the sweep of his lips, his throat bobbing as he became aware of her stare.

When they took their seats again, she rummaged through her things for her notebook, scrawling a quick note to him.

             _It’s your fault, you know._

His brows quirked as he read her note, and she was filled with the sudden impulse to smooth them with her thumbs.

**_What’s my fault?_ **

**** _Me being late._

_**Oh, right. Of course. Why’s that?**_

_I was up all night last night._

_**That’s not my fault.**   **It’s not like I kept you up that whole time.**_

_But you did._

It took him a few moments to figure out how to reply, but slowly, as he wrote, his lips pulled into a smile.

**_I’m not sorry._ **

**** _I’m not either._

_**I didn’t get that much sleep either.**_

**** _No?_

**_Nope, and there’s a certain nag responsible. If you see her around, be sure to tell her she’s got to give me a break every now and then so I don’t fucking collapse from exhaustion._ **

**** _I’m sure it’s every bit as dire as you’re making it sound._

**_It is! Look at me, wobbling all over the place. If we run the course today, I’ll probably fall asleep mid test and break my back on a tree trunk or some shit._ **

**** _Don’t even joke about that. And stop swearing in my notes._

He shot her a sweetly incredulous look.

             ** _I kissed you so good yesterday and you’re still gonna nag me about this stuff?!_**

**** _If anything, now that I’m letting you kiss me on a somewhat regular basis, I’m going to hold you to an even higher standard._

**_Somewhat regular?!!?_ **

**** _That’s what you object to!?_

_**Your capacity for nagging is no longer a surprise.**_

**** _Was it ever?_

He grinned.

             ** _Nope. So, only on a ‘somewhat regular’ basis, huh?_**

**** _Don’t give me that look. Like this is just me being a tease._

_**So it’s not?**_

**** _For god’s sake, no. If it were up to me, I’d be kissing you right now._

He’d snagged the corner of the notebook over to his side of the desk before she could reconsider admitting something so honest; predictably, his blush deepened, yet he smiled as he wrote his response.  

             ** _Really …._**

**** _Don’t be disgusting._

_**Since when is it disgusting to want to kiss you more?!**_

Her stomach curled, and she bit her lip against the sensation. They’d only just started the class period and already it was nearly unbearable not to touch him. She felt the need of it ache in her chest, twitch in restless hands.

And she marveled that this was still so new; they’d hardly reached an understanding as to how they’d proceed, yet for the first time in years she felt like she could be completely open with him. There was nothing to hide any longer.

_It’s not, I’m sorry._

_**I’m going to have to kiss you sometime today. Soon. Or I’ll lose my mind.**_

**** _You went your whole life without kissing me and you’re still reasonably sane._

_**Yeah, but now I got a taste for it.**_  

             _I don’t think we should, Auruo._

He hesitated; she watched his hands hover above the notebook, and his brow furrowed just slightly; culminating to an expression she knew as censure.  

**_Alright. I’m not trying to push you into anything._ **

**** _No, you weren’t! That’s not what I meant. It’s not that I don’t want to, because I DO. Very much. But I said beyond reproach yesterday. And it’s not beyond reproach to sneak off and make a big obvious scene about the fact that we’re going off together._

_**I wasn’t planning on being obvious.**_

**** _But even then, with you trying to be discreet, it’s still a little obvious. You know? You blush and get fidgety. You’re not a great liar._

_**Yeah I am.**_

**** _No, Auruo._

_**I am and I can prove it. When did you figure out that I liked you?**_

**** _You’ve always liked me._

He blushed nearly to the roots of his hair.

             ** _I mean, when did you figure out that I wanted you. That I liked you in a more than friend kind of way. It was when we kissed in the closet, right?_**

Petra fumed; it had been, in fact.

             _Way before then._

_**Nope. You figured it out in the closet. I’d liked you way before then, for ages and ages, and you had no clue. I think I liked you before you liked me.**_

**** _Not possible._

_**Yeah, I think so, nag.**_

**** _So tell me when you started liking me, then._

_**Not a fucking chance.**_

**** _Auruo!! Why not??!!_

             ** _Because it’s not important._**

**** _I think it is!_

For a moment he hesitated, his pencil hovering above the page, scrubbing self-consciously at his crimson cheeks.

**_Geez, Petra. Because you’ll laugh at me._ **

**** _I would never._

_**You would. Look, if I’m going to tell you this stupid crap, it’s not going to be in some ~~fucking~~  notebook, alright?**_

**** _But you WILL tell me?_

He shot her a very disgruntled look, and scrawled his reply in a slightly heavier hand than usual.

             ** _I’ll think about it._**

She beamed at him; she couldn’t help it. He sat hunched over the notebook, his beloved, wonderful face flush with his embarrassment, and for the first time in what felt like decades she could look at him without having to avert her gaze – she could study those familiar features that somehow seemed new in the light of what they’d decided, and she no longer had to turn away.

Yesterday she had told him they had to be beyond reproach, but today, sitting in such deliciously close proximity, she couldn’t help but to reach out and slowly brush the back of his hand with her slightly trembling finger. He flinched, and she felt him tremble.

             _I’m sorry. I forgot._

_**You forgot what?**_

**** _You don’t like touching._

             ** _Where did you get that idea?_**

**** _Because you’ve always done that – if I get too close you’ll jerk away, or something._

For some reason, he didn’t reply right away; instead he looked at her, fine brows slung low over his eyes, pencilpoint stilled on the page. He looked at her as if he had never seen her before, as if she had revealed something far greater than she’d realized. When he turned back to the page, her heart leapt in her throat.

             ** _I’d do that because I like it, you dummy._**

She stared, comprehension slowly dawning.

             ** _Why is this such a surprise? Geez, nag. You’re a touchy feely kind of person, you know that? Always grabbing my hand, my arm, my shoulder. Whatever’s around to grab. You even used to grab my face, before. And I – fuck. You know. I wasn’t supposed to like it, because you weren’t – you were – we were just friends. You’re not supposed to feel that way about a friend. So I figured if I just kept my distance I could pretend that I didn’t feel that way, and it worked most of the time. And then later you eased off, but you’d bump into me or accidentally touch me, and let me tell you that it’s a thousand times worse when it’s an accident. Because when you mean to do it, I see it in your face, and at least I got a second to prepare._**

**** _I’m sorry I’m so surprised. It’s just that I have to change my entire world view now. Auruo LIKES touching. My god._

**_Of course I do._ ** **_Don’t be a twit._**

**** _You’re the twit._

But she grinned, gently nudging his foot from under the table. And he grinned too.

             ** _You know I don’t like it as a general thing. But – it’s nice when you do._**

**** _Well, it’s nice when you do too._

And because she could, because she was giddy and a little punch drunk, and because she felt like she’d spent a thousand years with the want of this caught in her chest, she reached out and brushed the back of his hand again. This time, he did not flinch away. His fingers trembled, twitched as if aching to thread with hers, and he swallowed hard when she touched his wrist, but he made no move.

For a brief, daylight moment, she forgot where she was – in the back of their familiar classroom, ignoring the drone of Instructor Hall’s voice, the wrath of the autumn winds whistling through the rafters. And she forgot where she was going, the future she had chosen – a lifetime in the Survey Corps, as a proud defender of humanity. She only knew the feel of his skin, and how badly she ached to kiss him again.

Trembling, she turned back to the notebook.

             _It’s going to be a lot harder to be beyond reproach than I thought._

_**It’s not like you have to do it alone.**_

**** _Yes, but you said already you have a taste for it. Are you just going to shove my hands away when I try to touch you?_

_**Do you want me to?**_

**** _Yes! And … no. I don’t know._

_**Very helpful.**_

**** _Okay, yes. Yes I do. In public, anyway. Around people._

_**Alright. I’ll be a real asshole about it too. You’ll forget why you ever liked me.**_

**** _That’s impossible._

He ducked his head to hide his smile, and she thought a person had no business being so lovely when they smiled.

             ** _Geez. So no touching in public. And no sneaking away to kiss you, so no touching in private either._**

**** _Well …_

_**What.**_

**** _We shouldn’t do things on normal days. We don’t have that much free time anyway, so there’s little point. But I think on a rest day we could slip away to be alone together._

He covered his bright crimson face with a shaking hand.

             ** _Geez, Petra._**

**** _What?! Why are you embarrassed now?!!_

_**‘Be together?!’**_

**** _Well, what would YOU call it?!_

_**It’s not about what I’d call it, it’s just – fuck. It’s still pretty weird, okay? This is weird. You talking to me like this. Us talking about –this. It’s weird!**_

**** _Weird in a bad way?_

_**No! It’s – geez. It’s not bad.**_

_Weird in what way, then?_

_**God, Petra. I can’t describe it, okay? But it’s not bad. It’s just – it’s good. It’s too good. That’s what I mean.**_

**** _Too good?_

_**Yeah. You’re too good.**_

Now she covered her face because all one would have to do is look at it and know their secret in its entirety. She was obvious, plain as the pages of a book; should Instructor Hall glance up from her notes, she would instantly see their flimsy deception. There was no other reason for such a smile, and Petra knew it. She knew she was being foolish.

And she couldn’t help it.

But the instant faded as she watched Instructor Hall sweep a steel grey strand of hair behind her ear before gesturing to the map, outlining supply lines with a ruler, detailing outposts that had been painstakingly assembled by the Survey Corps, at great cost of life. And it was like being submerged in an icy lake after an afternoon in the sun. Reality beckoned. In only a few months, the 102nd East Trainee Division would be disassembled, and they would join their respective branches.

             _What are we going to do when we join the Survey Corps?_

_**I don’t know.**_

**** _Here we get some time every two weeks, and even then it’s a risk. How is it going to work when we’re actually soldiers? Will we even get to see each other every day? What if we’re assigned to different squads? What if I only ever see you at meals? What if I don’t even see you then? And what about the expeditions? What if –_

He’d been reading over her shoulder, and he gently tugged the notebook out of her hands before she could finish.

             ** _Stop. Look, I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out when we get there, when we know more._**

**** _You’re not worried about this?_

_**Yeah, I’m worried! Of course I am. Geez. I’m just saying there’s no point in worrying about it when we can’t even do anything about it. We don’t know anything. We don’t know what it’s going to be like.**_

**** _No one knows what it’s like._

_**I’m pretty sure you’re wrong, there.**_

**** _I’m not wrong. People who join the Survey Corps don’t do these kinds of things._

_**People who join the Survey Corps are PEOPLE. I bet you anything we’ll walk in on someone rutting the first week.**_

**** _I’ll take that bet. And don’t call it that._

_**I specifically didn’t call it fucking because I knew that would piss you off.**_

**** _Good, because that’s worse._

_**So what am I allowed to call it, then?**_

**** _Call it making love._

His blush spread to the tips of his ears, and for a moment he seemed to be at a loss, unable to translate thought to words.

             ** _What a stupid thing to call it._**

**** _It’s not stupid!_

_**Yeah it is. I wasn’t trying to make it sound like these two hypothetical soldiers were having some big romantic moment. I was just saying soldiers probably screw to blow off steam all the time. In the Survey Corps especially, since it’s so dangerous. What better way to feel alive, you know?**_

**** _Would it be ‘screwing to blow off steam’ for you?_

He stared at her, mouth agape; too horrified to be embarrassed.

             ** _NO!! What – no! Why would you think that?!_**

**** _You’re the one who likes to put it in such gross terms. I thought maybe that’s because it doesn’t mean that much to you._

_**I put it in gross terms because I’m a gross person who barely knows how to put a fucking thought together, especially when it comes to this shit.**_

**** _Alright, alright. Don’t get upset. I’m sorry._

_**You don’t have to be sorry, just – geez. I just –**_

Whatever he’d been about to write, he seemed to decide against, for he shoved the notebook back to her side of the desk, his features pinched with embarrassment. She found it impossibly endearing, almost frustrating; he looked so flustered, and more than anything she wanted to cup his warm face between her hands, and kiss him until he forgot.

Annoyed, he tugged the notebook back to his side.

             ** _Why are you looking at me like that?_**

**** _I was thinking about kissing you._

_**What?!**_

**** _I was thinking about holding your face in my hands and kissing you until you forgot about being flustered and kissed me back. It’s the first thing I’ll do on rest day, when we get to our place._

_**What place is that?**_

**** _Wil has a bunch of hidden places she uses with her … bed friends. Or whatever. She’s letting us use one._

_**So she owns these places, huh? Do we have to pay rent? Property taxes? If there’s a contract I insist on looking at the fine print.**_

She elbowed him, and he covered his mouth to stifle his snickering.

             _You’re terrible. She was really happy, you know. She wants to help._

_**Of course she’s happy. She’s been making shithead comments about it since she figured it out on day one.**_

**** _How do you know that?_

_**Because it was the first conversation we had. She watched us talking or something, when we had to do that harness test thing? And after you walked away she told me I was a terrible liar. ‘Just pitiful’. And she’s been making shithead comments like that almost every day for the last three years.**_

_I had no idea …_

_**Well now you do. God, it’s the worst during course runs, because our names are right next to each other and we’re always first, so we’d have to wait around the whole time for the rest of the subclass. And every single time it’s ‘so when are you going to confess your FEELINGS to Petra? Huh, Boss??’ On and on. Every ~~fucking~~  time.  **_

**** _Your FEELINGS, huh …_

_**Don’t even start.**_

**** _Start what?_

**_Petra –_ **

_You have FEELINGS for me._

**_Nope._ **

**** _You LIKE me. You have LIKE FEELINGS for me._

_**Right now**   **I don’t like you at all.**_

**** _Yes you do. You keep looking at my hands. And my mouth._

_**Yeah, well you keep looking at my hands and mouth too.**_

**** _You keep smiling at me._

**_For the love of – how about I harass you about YOUR LIKE FEELINGS or some shit?!_ **

**** _You can ask me whatever you want, and I’ll tell you everything._

_**What?**_

**** _Yeah! I feel like I haven’t been able to tell you everything in so long, and now I can. Now that you know how I feel about you. So ask me whatever you want._

_**I – can’t think of anything to ask.**_

**** _Well, when you do. Don’t sit on it for three years._

He snorted.

             ** _I might._**

**** _No, you won’t. In three years I’ll finally know everything about you._

_**Three years from now you’ll know exactly as much about me as you know now. Maybe less.**_

**** _That’s impossible, barring a massive head wound._

_**Nothing’s going to happen to your head. Nothing that’s not already wrong with it, anyway.**_

**** _You’re terrible._

_**Why’re you laughing, then??**_

**** _I’m not._

_**Right … So, three years from now we’ll be hotshots in the Survey Corps. Working under Levi as his most trusted subordinates. I’ll have killed two hundred titans.**_

**** _Three years from now my dad will be remarried._

_**There’s a long shot.**_

**** _You be nice. He’ll find someone someday._

_**Fine, fine. He’ll win someone over with his sparkling personality.**_

**** _Exactly. And three years from now Benoit will be accepted to study in Sina._

_**What is it with you and long shots?**_

**** _I root for underdogs. You know that._

_**So if we’re imagining impossible things, three years from now you’ll like me even more than you do now.**_

**** _That’s not impossible. I like you more today than I did yesterday._

_**What was I doing yesterday that you didn’t like?!**_

**** _Nothing! I’m just saying I like you more every day, and I’ve liked you more every day since I met you, so it’s not a long shot._

At first he made no move to reply; instead, he bit at his lower lip, in a gesture she knew to be a desperate attempt to keep from smiling. One hand carded through his hair, leaving a few stubborn strands curling chaotically in its wake. She remembered doing the same in the kissing closet, months ago, and thought about how in just a few weeks she’d have the chance to again. Warmth flooded her chest, pooled in her stomach.

             _What’s wrong?_

_**Nothing, nag. I was just thinking.**_

**** _Thinking what?_

_**It’s nothing.**_

**** _Come on. You can tell me now. Since I know about your LIKE FEELINGS._

He shook his head, scrubbing his cheeks.

             ** _I’m thinking these are going to be the longest weeks of my life._**

**** _I was thinking that too._

_**So far, anyway.**_

**** _So tell me what you’ll do when the wait is over. We’re finally alone together. I’m standing right in front of you. I’m taking off my cardigan._

_**~~Fuck~~.**_

**** _Well?_

_**Petra come on.**_

**** _What?! I want to know what you want._

_**Are you SURE?**_

**** _Yes! Why wouldn’t I be??_

_**Are you absolutely positive?**_

**** _Of course!!_

He hesitated, anxiously catching his lower lip between his teeth. As she watched he painstakingly composed his reply, her heart thundered, roaring in her ears; it was far more than anything he’d ever said or written to her before. Though he wrote slowly the words were raw on the page, his handwriting rough, erratic. His hands trembled as he slid the notebook back to her side of the table.

             ** _I want to unbraid your hair and wind it around my fingers, and probably really look at it for a long time because I’ve wanted to do that for ages. I want to kiss your wrists and your fingers and your shoulders and your neck. I really want to kiss your nose, don’t know why.  That birthmark on your elbow. I would do it right now if I could. I want to count your freckles because they drive me nuts, and it drives me nuts not knowing how many of them you have. And when I’m done with that I want to kiss every single one. I want to look at your face for a long time, until you get bored with being looked at, because for the first time since I’ve known you it feels like I’m finally allowed to. I want to lay down with you and hold you, and I want to stay like that for the whole day. ~~I want to take off your clothes, and then I want you to take off mine. I want you to make those little sounds again. I want to feel your breath on my neck. I want to touch you. I want you to touch me.~~ I want to do what you want to do, all of it._**

As she read, she imagined him doing these things to her – imagined the feel of his hands as they wound around her hair, and his lips as they claimed each place in turn. And she imagined what he’d wrote and reconsidered, tried to scribble out; the two of them entwined with nothing between them, naked and wanting. This wasn’t the first time she’d imagined such a scene, but knowing that he wanted it too made it heady, thrilling; no longer abstract but an eventuality. Warmth flooded her cheeks, spread from her chest to her belly to coil between her legs, and she shifted in her seat.

This conversation was too bare, too much – evidence of what they intended to do and what they felt, and how badly it violated regulations, but she no longer cared; she’d spent the last three years of her life swallowing what she wanted, and she wasn’t going to do it any longer. She wrote her reply in a rush, the side of her hand smearing the words in haste.

             _I want you to do all of those things. I don’t know which I want most – maybe for you to kiss my neck, or my freckles. I want you to kiss my lips, and I want to kiss yours. You have the nicest lips, you know? I won’t be satisfied until I’ve kissed them for at least six hours. Maybe ten. The whole day. I want to unbutton your shirt and touch your chest and stomach. I want to feel the difference between the skin of your hip and the skin behind your ear. I want to kiss that mole on the back of your neck that you probably don’t know about, but it’s been driving me crazy since the day I met you. I mean not in the same way, but now it’s in the way you’d expect. I want to kiss that stupid mole and I’m going to. I want to hunt for more, because I know you must have them. And I want to play with your cowlick, wind your hair around my fingers, and make little curls out of it. I want to kiss your grumpy face when you get mad about the hair thing, because you will, because for some reason you hate your wonderful, amazing hair. I want to hear you gasp and groan when I touch your waist. I want you on top of me for at least half the day, and the other half I want to be on top of you. And I want to hear you say my name like you did yesterday – I want that more than anything._  

Auruo was typically a slow reader; she’d never seen him read something so quickly. His eyes roved the page, and he swallowed hard three times. He seemed almost dazed by this revelation, but too quickly he recovered, ducking his head and turning his face toward the window, watching sheets of rain lash against the pane.

             _Auruo,_ she wrote, gently nudging his arm with the corner of the notebook.

Eventually, he acquiesced, and she caught full sight of his face, now so red that he appeared to be suffering from an especially bad case of sunburn.

             ** _Yeah. I want that too._**

**** _You’re blushing worse than I’ve ever seen._

_**Then maybe stop telling me about what you want so I can recover.**_

**** _It wasn’t so bad? I mean, I’m doing alright._

_**You were fidgeting.**_

**** _That doesn’t mean anything._

_**Right. Was this exercise supposed to make the wait more bearable or something? Because I feel even worse now.**_

**** _Worse??_

_**God, nag. Yeah. I mean it was kind of manageable before you told me you want me on top of you, but now I’m – fuck.**_

**** _Now you’re what?_

_**Now it’s worse. Now I want everything I told you I wanted and everything else. And this whole beyond reproach thing is hard to manage when I’m thinking about sucking on your neck instead of my life goals.**_

**** _Sucking on my – oh my god._

_**You said you like neck stuff!!!**_

**** _That was not a bad ‘oh my god’._

_**Oh.**_

**** _I’m sorry I made it worse._

_**Nah. It’s – it’s fine. It’s nothing! I’m being melodramatic.**_

**** _Maybe being beyond reproach will be easier if we think about our tests._

_**Right.**_

**** _And in a few months, we take our oaths. And join the Survey Corps._

_**Yeah.**_

**** _After wanting it and working toward it for years._

_**One time you fell asleep on my shoulder – this was before we became trainees, by the way. Back when you were always touching me. And in the middle of your snores you started talking about it.**_

**** _I don’t snore!!!_

_**Right, right. Anyway it was mostly nonsense, but you said something about pulling the Walls apart. And I thought it was so amazing that you were so dead set on this shit that you even dreamed about it.**_

_Don’t you?_

_**I don’t know if I have normal dreams. I don’t remember them, anyway. Every now and then I’ll have a nightmare that I remember, but that’s it.**_

**** _That’s really sad, Auruo._

_**Ah, and … sometimes you show up.**_

**** _In your nightmares???_

_**No, these aren’t nightmares. Never mind.**_

**** _I dreamed about you last night._

_**Yeah??**_

**** _It was kind of strange, because I thought it was a memory when I woke up at first. We were by our racing tree, and I could hear the river – the way it’s extra loud in the springtime, because of all the melted snow. Still chilly because it was just before your birthday, but there were buds on the tree, and birds were calling to each other. At first I thought it was a race, but you took my hand and we ran together. And you were laughing, like I’ve only heard you laugh when you think you’re safe, and no one is judging you._

_**You dream all that??**_

**** _Well, that’s just one part of it. Most nights they’re so vivid, but only a few scenes from the dream stick long enough for me to remember them in the morning. After that I dreamed about my dad making bread with my mom, and she was singing but it sounded like rain._

_**That’s kind of nice.**_

**** _It can be. Sometimes it’s upsetting, how vivid they are. After we buried my mom, I had dreams for months that she’d only been sleeping, and she woke up deep in the ground and started pounding on her coffin. Oh, and this one: The pastor said something that just horrified me – how her body would break apart and nourish the soil, and it would help the flowers and trees grow. ‘Just like in her garden’. So I’d dream that the flowers in her garden had her face._

_**Who says that kind of shit to a little kid??!**_

**** _Yeah, it was a bit egregious. I mean now it’s kind of comforting. That she’s still around, in some way. And everything is a circle. We live and we die, but nothing goes to waste. We carry on, in some other form._

_**I try not to think about shit like that.**_

**** _Why?_

_**It bothers me.**_

**** _Why??_

**_Thinking about the people I care about rotting in the ground?? Becoming dirt and trees? I don’t like it. It means I have to think about them dead in the first place, and I don’t like that._ **

**** _It happens to everyone._

_**Well, when it happens to me in fifty years or whatever, I’ll’ve had enough time to come to terms with it.**_

_One hundred years._

**_Can people even live to be a hundred?_ **

**** _Dad says they used to be able to._

_**I can’t see it.**_

**** _It’s hard to see it that way when you’ve lived in Karanese your whole life._

_**Yeah, that’s probably it. Do you mind if we stop talking about people dying now?**_

**** _Of course not. I’m sorry._

_**You don’t have to be sorry. I’m just – you can talk about your mom whenever, I’m not saying you can’t. That’s not what I meant.**_

**** _I didn’t think you meant it like that._

_**Okay. Good.**_

**** _Though did you think about wanting while we were talking about that?_

He shot her a quick look, heavy with meaning – chastised and irritated, and somehow tender – before his gaze dropped back to the desk.

             ** _Of course I did._**

_Auruo …_

_**What do you want me to say? Of course I did. I think about it all the time. You have no idea.**_

**** _Even before?_

_**Yeah, even before. But I think about it more now because now I know you think about it too, and it doesn’t make me some disgusting creep perving on my closest friend.**_

_You are a disgusting creep though._

_**Nice! And you’re a pushy, naggy twit.**_

_And you like me._

He tried not to smile, but she caught it – that charming, half-swallowed grin, that secret between them.

             ** _Yeah._**

_You have LIKE FEELINGS for me._

_**Don’t get carried away, nag.**_

**** _I can’t get carried away, it’s the truth._

**_You can absolutely get carried away with the truth._ **

_Well, how about this? I like you. I have LIKE FEELINGS for you. I like you so much it makes me crazy. I’m a crazy person with LIKE FEELINGS for you._

**_Can you stop calling it LIKE FEELINGS??_ ** **_Geez._**

_You like me and I like you. We like each other. And on the next rest day I am going to kiss you stupid. I’m going to kiss your face and kiss your nose and kiss your lips and kiss your shoulder and your hands and your stomach and everywhere. Anywhere you’ll let me._

He made no move to reply. At first she thought she had said something wrong, or perhaps pushed him past some internal threshold, but before she could pull the notebook back to apologize, he carefully set his pencil aside and reached beneath the desk for her hand. His fingers brushed against skin, tracing from her knuckle to her wrist. It was too gentle – she wanted him to hold her tightly, wanted to feel the pressure of his fingers in the flesh of her palm, yet somehow even this insubstantial touch trailed fire. Her breath caught.

Too abruptly, he withdrew his hand, and hunched over the notebook to scrawl a furious note.

             ** _You can’t gasp like that when we’re in a room full of people!!!_**

**** _Don’t put this on me! That’s what happens when you do that!!_

_**So I just won’t do it again.**_

The thought of going two weeks without made her slightly nauseous.

**** _… You should do it one more time._

**_You sure?? You going to moan real loud or something if I do?_ **

**** _AURUO! Of course not!!!_

_**I’ll hold you to it.**_

**** _Oh shut up. Give me your hand._

She tipped the pencil out of his hand and tugged his sleeve until he got the idea, dropping his hand below the desk. Carefully, she threaded her fingers with his, just briefly – long enough to squeeze once, long enough for him to do the same. But it wasn’t enough; that familiar ache resurfaced with a vengeance when she felt him shiver. She traced the back of his hand, the delicate skin of his wrist, moving fast to the calluses of his palm, and trembled as he did the same, his touch deeper, rougher. She loved his hands, wide palms and long fingers, solidly square nails. She loved the way their hands looked entwined, hers pale, his a few shades darker.

And with one last squeeze she drew away, her hand curling in her lap, aching already for what it had left behind. 

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is very, very nsfw! fair warning!

Petra arrived first.

She was usually arriving places first; too eager for sleep, too anxious for stillness and reserve. She thought of the first Sunday after she’d met Auruo, almost seven years ago, and how excited she’d been to see his blushing face, how much she’d needed to hold his hand. Somehow, she’d known then that he would be important to her; she’d felt it in every fiber of her being.

“Are you sure this place is safe?” she asked Wil.

“It’s more than safe,” Wil assured her. “I’ve used this one loads of times. It just happens to be my favorite, actually.”

Petra craned around the dusty spare uniform closet, wrinkling her nose. “Why is it your favorite?”

“Because the officers still think it’s locked, so no one ever comes around. And it’s cozy, for one,” Wil answered, plopping down on a pile of unused cloaks. “And this little nook here is out of line of sight from the doorway, so if someone did walk in you’d at least have a few seconds to make yourselves decent.” Her lips quirked. “Or you could do what me and Fritz did and crawl out the back.”

“You came in here with  _Fritz?!”_

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Wil shrugged. “He had a pretty cock.”

Petra was a long way from the girl who blushed at the mention of cocks; nearly three years of being Wil’s friend had cured her of that earlier embarrassment. “Was that the only reason?”

“Sometimes that’s all the reason you need, lamb. Hope Boss has a pretty cock, otherwise you’ll be out of luck.”

“Why’s that.”

“Because I don’t think you’re going to ditch him anytime soon.”

Petra certainly wasn’t planning on it, but she was also getting pretty tired of Wil’s smug know-it-all routine. “I could, you know! Or he could ditch me! Things might not work out!”

“I don’t think so, lamb,” Wil said, with a knowing look. “I think you two are in it for good.”

Talk of cocks had failed to ignite the blush, but that did it; Petra felt a flood of warmth rush to her face, and she covered her cheeks with her hands, as if that would somehow make it any less obvious. “You don’t –“

“God, you idiot. You’re both idiots. I’m nuts about you two, but you’re both so fucking stupid.” Wil sighed, and pushed back an artfully mused lock of white-blonde hair. “I’ll keep an eye out, alright? And I’ll yell if I see someone coming in, so you’ll have more than a few seconds to put your pants back on.”

Suddenly, Petra was more nervous than she’d ever been in her life; on the precipice of something she both wanted desperately and feared. “I – I mean, you – maybe it’s not a good idea. It’s too risky. We should –“

Wil closed the gap between them and gently took Petra’s shoulder, shaking her slightly. “It’s alright to be nervous,” she said, and her tone was unbearably tender.

There was no use in denying it; especially as Petra had vowed never to deny anything she felt again. She hung her head. “Is it?”

“Of course! Anyone who said they weren’t nervous the first time they did this kind of stuff is lying. Remember that.”

“We’re not going to do anything.”

“You probably won’t,” Wil agreed. “God, you’re so cute. I bet somewhere outside Boss is having the same existential crisis.”

For some reason, the thought was encouraging. She bit her lip against the smile. “Probably.”

“Yeah, there it is. This is fun. Sex is fun.”

“Oh my god.  _Now_  it’s time for you to leave,” Petra said firmly, giving her friend a push toward the door.

Wil did not go quietly. “Getting evicted out of my own fuck nest, and before I’ve even said my piece. Typical lamb.”

“You can say the rest of your piece tonight.”

“I’ll say it right now, you pintsized snot.” Wil snickered. “If you  _do_ end up fucking, make sure he pulls out before he comes. Or remind me to talk to you about that tea …”

“ _GO!”_

“And if he gets handsy before you’re ready, you tell me right away and I’ll kick his dick off. I mean it! Tell me right away and he’ll never make that mistake again. They’ll never find the body.”

“This is Auruo you’re talking about,” Petra said, rolling her eyes. 

“Yeah,” Wil agreed with a fond grin. “So it’d be really funny.”

He was, Petra thought; more than she could accurately enumerate in short conversation. “Okay, I think you should go now.”

“All right, lamb. Be good … but not too good.” With a wink, Wil slipped outside, and Petra was alone. Her stomach coiled nervously, and she took a careful seat on a pile of spare jackets, each emblazoned with the twin swords of the Trainee Corps.

Wil had been right; this closet was downright luxurious compared to what Petra had expected. It was warmer in here than outside, and though the sun hid behind a layer of insistent clouds, in here the low light seemed brighter, soft as sunrise.  The cloaks were a bit stiff in that unused fabric kind of way, but they’d do well enough to lay atop, or spread above.

But if this closet hadn’t existed, Petra wouldn’t have cared. Anywhere she could be alone with Auruo would suit her fine.

She had seen him only yesterday, but it seemed like weeks had passed, months even. The day stretched out before her, vast and mysterious; she felt that by the time darkness fell and curfew was called, she would be a different person – possessed with knowledge she could only guess at now.

The door opened, and her heart leapt.

~

Auruo had expected an empty closet, so he was surprised (and pleased, and a bit terrified) to see that Petra had once again beaten him to the punch. As his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, he saw a flash of her bright auburn hair, and a flash of her smile, and he couldn’t breathe. She was so beautiful. He’d missed her.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“H-hey,” he whispered back. 

She reached for his hand, and inexplicably he remembered the first day she’d done so; on the bank of the river, a thousand miles away. But they were the same, he thought – this was her same hand, and this was his same hand, and the way their fingers tangled was the same, too. Deeper, and thrilling, but the same.

“A uniform closet?” he asked when he found his voice.

“Wil says it’s her favorite spot.”

“Why?”

“It’s cozy,” Petra said, and she sounded as if she agreed.

He wouldn’t argue. Barring the oppressive scent of dust in the air, it was pretty nice. She – or someone – had already made a little nook stacked with cloaks and jackets, far enough away from the door so that no one could see them if they kept their heads down. “If you say so,” he managed.

“Come here,” she said. He watched her lips move as she spoke; the words nearly became obscene in the shape of her mouth. He’d spent so many years trying not to look at her mouth and now that he could he felt drunk with power; not over her, but with her. This was allowed. She allowed it.

“You gonna rumple me?” he heard himself say.

“Yes.”

She tugged him over to the nook she’d made, and he dropped down next to her, his heart hammering. He felt big and stupid, too big for his body, his tongue too big for his mouth. He swallowed, and the sound was deafening. “Ha …”

She wiggled under his arm and wrapped her own around his waist. He felt her shaking, and knew she could probably feel him shaking. “Are you nervous?” she whispered again.

“Nah.”

“You were going to start with my wrist …” she reminded him. “Weren’t you?”

“If you still want.”

This made her smile, for some reason. She offered him her hand, with the inside of her wrist facing up. He took it carefully and traced the delicate skin there with his thumb. He was stupid and clumsy – he’d do something wrong. He’d hurt her or make a fool or himself, and she’d end things as suddenly as they’d began. This brief, impossible dream would be over.

“Actually,” he said after a minute, trying to contain the wild pace of his heart. “I was gonna start with your hair.”

She bit her lip. “Why my hair?”

 _Because otherwise I wouldn’t know where to start._ “Because I’m gonna rumple you.”

And he did; with shaking hands he pulled her braid over her shoulder and unwound its binding, slowly combing his fingers through those impossibly smooth strands. And it was only hair – nothing at all like skin, like her skin – but somehow the feel of his hands buried in that sea of soft hair was as thrilling as anything he’d ever known in his life.

When her loose hair streamed down her back like a bright auburn waterfall he took her hand again, and, with only the slightest hesitation, pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. He felt her trembling, felt her pulse thrum insistently against his mouth, and it thrilled him – made him brave. In the near silence of the closet, her caught breath was thunderous.

He looked up. “What is it?”

“You’re not doing anything,” she said in a trembling voice. “Nothing that normal people don’t do every day on the street. Why does it feel so … much?”

“People don’t do this on the street.”

“Yeah they do. Like a gentlemen, he’ll take a lady’s hand and kiss it.”

“Dummy. He’d kiss her knuckles. Like so.” He demonstrated with a little grin.

“Why not the inside of her wrist?”

“Because that’s not how it works." 

“And you’d know?”

“Well, think about it. You just said it’s too much.” He let his lips stray there a little longer, touching light kisses in a wandering circle, and beneath his mouth she trembled. And it was too much; far too much. It made him think of pressing his mouth to other tender places.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” she whispered.

“… A-alright.”

She craned up, and reflexively he craned down. He was accustomed to craning down for her; when they’d been kids they’d been more or less the same size, but he’d grown and she’d stayed small – filling out, bending with curve where he shot upright. He was never more aware of this difference than he was at this moment; pressed side to side in a tiny, dusty closet.

And he wanted to kiss her, more than he wanted anything, but to his surprise he found himself savoring that moment before her lips touched his. In it, everything was possible – the future stretched out for them both, shining with promise. For once he didn’t think about his hungry family or the Survey Corps or fear; he only thought of her, and how desperately he needed her. How much he loved her.

She touched his face, and pushed back a lock of stupid hair from his brow. Just as she’d promised, she wound it around her finger and smiled when it curled in that stupid way he hated. And then her lips were on his, and he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t want to.

~

Auruo made a small sound, and his fingers tightened on her waist. Because she was nervous, and because he was so much – too much, far too much – she tested the waters with small, light kisses. Each lasted for a brief second before she pulled away to study his face, and then she’d crane up and kiss him again. Like dipping above and below the surface of the river, still testing her courage for the inevitable plunge.

And she was testing him too; testing his need. His breathing became ragged, and his eyes closed; he shuddered when her kiss strayed longer and deepened, and his thumb rubbed desperate circles over her stomach. Her heart leapt to her throat, and something warm and sinuous coiled in the pool of her gut, between her legs.

“Petra …” he groaned when she kissed his jaw, letting her teeth graze just slightly. Discovering what felt good and what didn’t.

“Mm …” She smiled between kisses. “Keep saying my name like that.”

“You brat …” She kissed his grinning mouth, his lovely nose. “You fuckin’ brat.”

“Shh …”

This time when he kissed her, it was like the caught fire she’d tasted that first time; like instead of air he sustained himself on his need, like it was the only thing keeping him alive. His hand carded desperately in her hair, and he made a rough sound. And there was something so intoxicating about being needed in this way, and knowing that what she felt was exactly paralleled in him; they were connected, entwined in an equal place.

~

He lost track of time. It moved with impossible duality; hurtling forward and slowing exquisitely. Two minutes could have passed in this closet, or two thousand years. Somehow, both must be true.

~

She didn’t know who moved first, only that it seemed like they moved at the same time – like they had somehow had the same idea in the same instant. Outside, such a thing would have been stupid, childish whimsy; here it was more than possible. It was inevitable. At the same time, she leaned back and he clambered atop her, kneeling between her legs.

It would have been perfect too, if he hadn’t accidentally bumped her nose with his forehead. “Ow,” she squeaked.

“Shit.” He drew away. “Are you –“

She grabbed a fistful of his shirt to keep him from leaving, because he was on top her and she wanted to feel his weight, his closeness. Feel this clothed facsimile of what they both wanted. “Don’t leave.”

Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, so she saw his sweet surprise, colored by desire. He was flushed and panting. His brow was a little red from where it had connected with her nose.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Shit, Petra, I’m …”

“Shh …” She held his face between her hands. “Come here.”

~

Every time she said those words – those two little words, so innocuous outside – he felt something hot and wanting tense in his hands, his stomach. 

It still took him a moment to remember that this was no longer something to hide.

~

And his lips were on her neck, burning like a brand; just as he’d promised, he kissed her neck until she moaned, until she shivered and gasped for him. She arched beneath him, against him; felt his telltale stiffness pressing hard against her hip.

Months ago it had thrilled and terrified, an obvious sign of what he needed; now she needed it just as badly. Desire mingled with curiosity; she wanted to take his erection between her hands and stroke it, learn the texture of its skin. Wanted to touch him until he gasped and shuddered, until it gave him release.

~

He didn’t know how long it had been when her hands slid from his shoulders – only that his lips were raw from kissing, and his arms ached from holding his weight above her. He felt her graze the top of his pants, felt her fingers slip inside his shirt and skim his waist, and his hips bucked reflexively against her.

“Sh-shit,” he gasped.

She looked up at him. “I forgot.”

“Forgot what.”

A small smile. “You’re ticklish.”

He shook his head. “Geez, Petra.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

She bit her lip. “I want to touch you.”

It was still so new, and he didn’t trust that this was real and not some particularly lifelike dream, one of the many he’d had in the years since he’d found himself wanting her. “A-alright.” He swallowed hard, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I want …”

“Yes?”

“I – I want to touch you too.”

He heard her breath catch. “So touch me.”

~

He was breathing hard. She thought she might have been able to hear his heartbeat in the still silence of the closet; each pulse buffeting waves of dust. She caught a flash of his throat working in the low light, his sweet face twisted with want and anxiety alike. And in that moment she had a rush of empathy – he’d wrestled this beneath the surface for so long, all for her sake. Of course he’d be overwhelmed now. She was too.

Carefully, his shaking fingers traced the sweep of her collarbone before drifting to the exact center of her chest, where just to the left her heart raced. She squirmed, reflexively; wanting and anxious herself. When he hand finally closed over her breast, she heard herself gasp.

“F-fuck …” he breathed.

~

This was nothing like the fast, stupid grope in that first closet, months ago; here she let him learn the shape of her, the soft weight of her breast that somehow fit perfectly in his hand. Beneath his palm he felt her nipple stiffen, and his cock twitched in response.

“Fuck …” he said again. It was too hard to breathe, to think; she was so soft and good, and she was looking up at him with her lips parted, her eyes half-lidded with want, and it was too much. He couldn’t breathe.

Shaking, he tipped his head forward to rest in the crook of her neck. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, hating himself. “I’m –“

_Pathetic. Fucking pathetic._

“Shh …” she said, lifting his face to frame it between her hands. She smiled, her thumbs skimming his flaming cheeks, and he’d never loved anyone or anything as much as he loved her. It made him weak, and made him brave.

~

By the time evening arrived his shirt was unbuttoned and her skirt was rucked midway up her thighs. Her burning, needful kisses had left scattered marks across his chest; slowly they rose to the surface, stark and obvious against its usual shade. He loved it; in the days they would have to spend apart, he’d think of them beneath his shirt, and remember the sounds her lips had made as she kissed him, her little breathy gasps, and it would sustain him. He’d sustained himself on a lot less.

“You’re a mess,” he teased her breathlessly.

“Not as much as you,” she shot right back. “You should see your hair.”

“You should see yours.”

Regretfully, they put each other back together – she buttoned his shirt with trembling fingers, and he braided her hair as best he could. Not with Wil’s dexterity, of course, but then again he’d only learned by watching for so many years.

Before they parted, she dragged him back inside for one last, searing kiss. And he was more than happy to oblige.

~

“So how was it?” Axel said when Auruo flopped onto his bunk.

Any other day Auruo would have struggled mightily to suppress his stupid grin. As it was, he didn’t think he’d ever stop grinning. “None of your fuckin’ business.”

~ 

They spent months in this way.

The cycle began with long work days, ceaseless stretches of desperate wanting, glances shared over breakfast, fleeting touches under the table, and it ended with the day of rest, spent in their spare uniform closet, entwined. Their peers consumed themselves with the final tests that drew closer every day, became less abstract and more the substance of real anxiety. They consumed themselves with their futures – three paths, spread out before them. Auruo and Petra concerned themselves with only one.

It was foolish. It was exactly what she’d warned against. But there was no stopping now that they’d started; they were ravenous students not of 3DMG, but of each other. She committed the sound of his ragged breathing and needing groans to rote, and he memorized the tender spaces between her ribs, the weight of her breasts and the dip of her waist.

“It’s good you’re getting this out of your system now,” Martin said one midwinter morning at breakfast. His brows furrowed when he caught sight of Auruo grinning stupidly at Petra as she deposited her empty dish in the wash. “By the time you join the Survey Corps, you’ll need to be less obvious.”

“We’re not obvious,” Auruo muttered, dropping his gaze back to his bowl. “There’s nothing to be obvious about.”

Martin didn’t deign to enumerate; his expression contorted under the weight of his incredulity, rendering him nearly unrecognizable, not to mention insufferable smug. “Really.”

“Will you – geez. Will you shove it, maybe?”

“I think it’s nice, for the record,” Martin continued as if he hadn’t heard. “You’ve both been obvious about it for a long time. But you’ll have to be less obvious when we join the Survey Corps. There will be less room for error, and less flexibility should you be discovered.” His grey eyes became serious. “You should spend this time learning how to be discreet, if you can.”

“I thought that’s what we were doing,” Auruo grumbled.

With a sigh, Martin set down his spoon. “Nothing you do is discreet, Auruo.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means she’s better at hiding it than you. You need to be better at hiding it.”

“How is she better at hiding it?!”

Martin sighed again. “When you’re not looking at each other or doing something stupid in public, you wouldn’t be able to guess what she thought about you if you didn’t know her very well.”

“And you do, huh?”

“Yes, I think after three years, I can say that I know Petra reasonably well.” Martin’s smile was just a touch smug. “You can’t possibly be jealous.”

“I’m not!” He  _was_  somewhat annoyed that she was so skilled at hiding her feelings to the world, though; he wondered if that made them less true, easier to subvert. “How am I obvious?!”

Martin shook his head. “Really, Auruo.”

“Geez!” Auruo blurted. “What – I don’t – you just – what the fuck, Martin?!”

“You can deny it all you like, but you’re an open book. Everything you feel is all over your face.”

“So I’m a bad liar, huh. That seems to be the consensus here,” Auruo retorted peevishly.

“Only you would have a problem with that,” Martin said heavily. “Come on. We’re due for horseback training.”

Auruo thought about Martin’s words for the rest of the week. It bothered him that he was so obvious; he was already failing Petra’s one stipulation, that this not adversely affect their quality as soldiers. If he was blatantly stupid for her, what use would he be? What use would he be to the Survey Corps, which was still his deepest aspiration?

Petra noticed, of course; the next time they dragged each other off to their closet, she caught his face between her hands in what had quickly become habit. “What is it?”

“I’m not doing this right,” he muttered, dropping his gaze. “I’m screwing it up.”

“You aren’t,” she said, this time with a smile. “Trust me.”

“I’m being stupid. Obvious.”

She bit her lip. “Not that bad.”

“Martin said –“

“Martin’s quite observant. He  _would_ see it.”

“I dunno if that makes me feel any better,” he said, and he couldn’t help but to lean into her touch. “There’s bound to be smart, observant people in the Survey Corps.”

“Martin also knows you very well,” Petra said, and she craned up to kiss him. “Come here.”

He could never resist when she said that.

Despite the fact that he was an obvious idiot when it came to Petra and their illicit relationship, he was blindly, deliriously happy. He’d started when she’d first come into his life, a bright auburn whirlwind reaching for his hand, and every day since had been better than the one before. They were a gift; a long line of them stretched out behind, and twice as many stretched before. He couldn’t imagine life without her in it. He didn’t want to.

Winter slowly gave way to spring, and preparations for the imminent final tests began in earnest. At the onset of March, the 102nd was informed that they would have one final rest day before their tests in six weeks, at which point every moment they weren’t sleeping they would be training. Auruo and Petra had shared a brief look – no longer than a few moments, so as not to be obvious. Two weeks without was bad enough, but  _six?_ His stomach twisted at the thought.

“Fuck,” Wil said later that night, watching the pair of them fidget. “You better get it out of your system tomorrow.”

“What in the world are you talking about, Wilhelmina?” Axel said in a showy, theatrical voice. “There’s absolutely nothing going on. Isn’t that the official story?”

“You’re  _right,”_ Wil said, flashing them her jackal’s grin. “Why, they’re the very picture of innocence.”

“Purely platonic,” Martin offered, biting back his own smirk.

“There’s absolutely nothing untoward going on in that closet.”

“They play cards.”

“Exchange recipes.”

“Trade good old fashioned yarns.”

“What the hell is a yarn?” Wil screeched delightedly.

Martin was not impressed with her lack of education. “A yarn?! It’s a story. Everyone knows that.”

“Anyway,” Axel said forcefully.

“Right, of course. That topic being Boss and Lamb’s imminent platonic exploits tomorrow, which will have to last them for six weeks.”

“You guys are assholes,” Auruo muttered, scowling. “Mind keeping it down?”

Axel gestured expansively, nearly smacking Wil in the head. “No one can hear us, Boss. And they definitely won’t hear any of your disappointing efforts with the lovely lady Petra.” At his side, Oskar snickered.

“I’m glad you find it so funny, Axel,” Petra said in a sweet voice; always a portent of trouble. “You’d know all about disappointing, wouldn’t you?”

Wil shrieked with laugher.

~

This time, Auruo arrived first.

He slipped away from the rest of his classmates as they made their way to the mess line.  He couldn’t stand to wait another minute; a half hour spent eating was a half hour wasted without his hands in her hair, on her breasts, without his lips on hers. And when she slipped through the door two minutes later, he seized his chance.

“Took you long enough,” he groaned into her neck when she yanked him close.

“Shut up.”

They’d become remarkably efficient at disassembling their clothes; before he was aware of it, she’d slipped her hands under his shirt and ripped it over his head, flinging it aside. He was still a little more cautious when it came to hers, as on rest days she wouldn’t wear her binding; under the impression she was doing him a favor. And she was, certainly, but even months later he was cautious.

Still so easily overwhelmed. He’d never actually seen them yet. He wanted to. Today, perhaps. If he could keep it together.

~

Petra tugged him down by the waist of his pants and he followed her lead, his hips crashing against hers. Those first days of tentative exploration were long gone; now when he stretched out above her, she traced the outline of him with desperate fingers, and felt deep gratification when he moaned.

“What are you …?”

“Shh…” she said, kissing him.

“You’re so pushy,” he said. “Let me just –“

“Let you just what.”

“Get settled, dammit. I’m fuckin’ half naked and you’re not.”

“It’s not my fault you’re slow.”

“I’m not slow!” he retorted. “Just … I’m taking my time. I’m  _appreciating.”_

“What a bunch of nonsense!”

“It’s not nonsense,” he said, a little peevishly. Before she could reply, he caught the hem of her shirt between shaking fingers and slowly pulled it over her head. And she’d been waiting for the look on his face when he first saw her like this; both eager and anxious that he’d be disappointed her breasts weren’t bigger, that she wasn't voluptuous and curvy as it seemed every other girl was. But his eyes went wide and wondering, and she felt a warm flash of pleasure that his first reaction to her naked chest was awestruck need.

“God, Petra …” he said, his head dropping between her breasts; she felt his mouth trace her callused bruise from the 3DMG. “Fuck …”

“Am I alright?” she asked him. Fishing, just a little.

He seemed to be beyond words. Trembling, he cupped them with his warm hands, and she shivered too, arching when he brought his mouth to one and peppered it with kisses.

“Fuck, Petra,” he said again, much later; her nipples ached from his attention. “You have freckles on your chest.”

“What?”

“Yeah …” She saw him smile in the low light. “I’ll have to count these too.”

And she almost said it; at that moment, watching him smile up at her, she almost told him that she loved him, more than she ever thought it was possible for one person to love another. Instead, she turned away and brought her hand to her mouth to stifle the smile. “You’re so ridiculous.”

“Yeah …” And he brought his lips to her breast once again, his eyes drifting shut.

~

He learned her with insatiable eagerness; learned what made her giggle and fidget, what made her arch and sigh. He didn’t think he was particualrly observant or skilled; his failure in the classroom had enforced this well enough, but here with Petra he found it easy to know what she liked, and she never had to say a word. When he swept his tongue over her nipple, she gasped, and it was almost as if he’d experienced the sensation himself.

He thought distantly that it was good they’d known each other for so long. There’d been no need for preliminary introductions; he knew almost everything about her and adored her utterly. Instead, they’d gone straight for what they didn’t know; the physical heft of each curve he’d coveted, the feel of her ass in his palm, her breast between his fingers. The marks 3DMG left behind, mirrored on his own chest, hips, and legs. And always, her mouth.

“Are you done appreciating?” she managed to tease when his lips strayed to the corner of her mouth.

“C’mon.”

But his attention had taken a different form; his appreciation no longer slow or methodical. He moaned when her tongue swept inside his mouth, when her hands slid from his waist to his ass, pulling him closer. He dragged himself against her, hard and straining against the wet heat between her legs; even still covered by her smalls, he could feel it, and it drove him on.

~

He was all hands, rough groans. His body moved above hers with taut strength; she was pinned beneath him in every possible way, her breath stitched to the top of her throat, her heartbeat a shivering plea.

But she flinched when she felt his hand slip inside her smalls, his fingers pushing down to find her aching core. He pulled away immediately when she gasped. “I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes wide and horrified. “I’ll –“

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “I’m – you just startled me.”

“I don’t have to—“

“No! Please. I want you to.” She took his hand and guided it slowly down, trembling with aching need. “Please …”

With a hard kiss, he obeyed.

~

She was so wet, he thought hazily; his finger slipped right inside, and he felt her tighten around him. And he imagined what it would be like to push himself inside her, that slick warmth; how amazing it would be, since before he’d only known his hand. How amazing it’d be regardless.

“Auruo …” she cried, clutching his shoulder and burying her face against his chest. And he knew he was on the precipice of something amazing; if he could make her feel what he so desperately wanted to feel at her hand …

So he probed, brows furrowing. Fingers slick with her wetness, he slipped outside and above, circling slowly until he felt her convulse in his arms. “Auruo!” she gasped. “What --?”

He drew away slightly, searching her face. “Do you want me to stop?”

She was panting; he could feel the tips of her breasts brushing his chest. “No …” she said at last. “Please don’t.”

~

She thought he’d slide his finger inside her again, but instead he stroked her, varying the pace and pressure from featherlight slowness to a firm, brisk touch. When he pulled back slightly, she saw his serious expression, brows knitted low, both concentrating on his task and gauging her reaction. And dizzily she thought how lovely it was that he studied her, that he committed her body to rote.

~

He knew he was doing something right when he felt her go rigid beneath him. She gasped, moaned his name, begged for him to keep going, and though his hand was starting to hurt and his own need had reached throbbing insistence, he did as she asked – he wouldn’t stop for anything, not even the end of the world.

“O-oh my god,” she whimpered, shuddering hard. And he brought her up and over, his open mouth pressed to her cheek, savoring her pleasure just as much as he would his own. 

~

It took her a long time to come down, and when she opened her eyes she saw him watching her.

“Oh my god,” she breathed again, going loose in his arms. “That was …oh my god.”

He grinned, and it was a little smug. “You’d think you’d never come before.”

She took too long to answer, and his grin faded to horror. “You’ve never come before?!”

“I –“ She didn’t know how to explain it. Wil’s prompting notwithstanding, she had no experience with these matters, nor had she ever successfully experimented with her body. Latent embarrassment coupled with the fact that her mother had died before she could explain any of this to her resulted in her woeful lack of experience. “Is that pathetic?”

“No, just – it’s kinda …” He grinned again, but this time it was tender, and he brushed his nose against her cheek. “Let me do you again. Start making up for it.”

_“Auruo!”_

“What?!”

“Am I supposed to take you as some big expert or something?”

“I’ve been doing it a lot longer than you have, that’s for sure.”

“How long?”

Color rushed to his face, and he let his head tip forward, resting against her shoulder. “It’s not important.”

“You brought it up!”

He swallowed hard; weighing his answer in tense silence and eventually deciding on truth. “Ugh … thirteen.”

“That young?!”

He colored badly. “Look, that’s when you start noticing stuff … things. Stuff that gets you … you know! Fuck. And if you don’t you’ll come in your sleep and you have to try and sneak off and change your clothes and sheets, but everyone fuckin’ knows anyway, and it’s humiliating. It’s a lot easier to just do it when you’re alone and you can clean up the goddamn mess.”

She felt a sudden surge of pity for him, considering the size of his family and the size of his home. “Oh, Auruo …”

“Geez. Don’t get all misty about it.”

“Is that when you started noticing me? When you were thirteen?”

He shifted uncomfortably; she felt his erection brush her bare thigh. “I mean …fuck. D’you remember that lady that lived down the street for a few months? Before …”

Petra indeed remembered; the neighbor in question had been a beautiful, curvaceous woman in her thirties, with flaxen blonde hair that streamed down her back like a sheet of gold. She had a tendency to wear her dresses low, and the top of her ample bosom always teased at spilling out. “Are you kidding me?!”

“Do you want me to lie? God! I was a dumb kid with a boner. She was always trying to talk to me, asking me how things were going. And she’d do that thing where she’d wave with her whole fuckin’ body, and they’d …”

“Okay, okay! I get the picture.” Petra scowled up at him; she knew it was stupid to be jealous because they were talking about something that happened six years ago, but it still felt like an insult. She looked nothing like that woman.

Auruo seemed to understand. “Do you wanna know when I started noticing you that way?”

“Don’t tell me just to placate me.”

“I’m not, you touchy nag. Fuck. I want you to know the difference between  _brief_ attraction and how I feel about you.”

She said nothing; though she was jealous, she couldn’t deny her curiosity.

Auruo took a breath, steeling himself. “Alright. It was that same year, a few weeks after your birthday – the leaves had started to turn. And you were ...” He closed his eyes, as if summoning the memory. “You were just being you. Excited about making a leave pile, or something. We spent all day making it even though it got pretty cold, and after you jumped in and dragged me along, and you were laughing and you rolled on top of me, and –“ He fell silent, coloring again. “And it just got worse and worse from there. I started noticing everything, and I still …I still notice everything. Do you remember?”

“Of course,” she said. It had been one of their better Sundays. She remembered the cool breeze mingled with the warmth of the sun; remembered his grumpy face giving way to a smile when she pulled him in, and the blush that followed when she clambered on top. He was usually blushing when she touched him, so she hadn’t thought anything of it. He’d been solid and warm, and she’d wanted to stay there, with his arms around her. Caught by the memory, she reached up and touched his face, tracing the lines on either side of his mouth. “I had no idea.”

“Now you do,” he said, uncomfortable again. “Sorry if that’s weird.”

“It’s not weird, Auruo. I just … I had no idea.” She bit her lip. “So … it isn’t just some brief thing?”

“ _No,”_ he said, and he leaned down to kiss her slowly, his thumbs brushing her cheeks before burying in her loose hair. “God, no.” And she could nearly taste the truth of his words in the way he kissed her.

“You’ve liked me for ages,” she said between kisses. “You adore me.”

“Shut up.”

“You couldn’t live without me.”

“How about you, huh? You couldn’t either.”

“You’re right; I couldn’t live without myself.”

He was not impressed, but he kissed her anyway. His mouth was hot against hers, and his lips were soft – impossibly, she thought; he was so rough in almost every other way. His eyes drifted closed, his hips dragging slowly against her still thrumming core, and she made a small sound when his erection caught between her legs.

“I wanna make you come again,” he murmured.

The fact that he cared more about her pleasure than his, and that her satisfaction satisfied him was thrilling; it curled hard in her stomach, settling somewhere in her buoyant chest. Her curiosity and need mingled with this tender swell of feeling for him, and she wanted to give to him what he’d given to her. She wanted to feel him tremble and shudder, wanted to know his taste.

“No,” she said, lifting a hand to his chest. “Lay back.”

~

He didn’t understand at first. His abysmally low self-worth and years of stacking himself against better people culminated to this moment; he thought he was being rejected, and a rush of shame flooded his stomach, made him sick. He drew away, face burning, when her fingers brushed his cock.

“Wh-?”

Her features were resolute, and she kissed him gently before giving him a firm push. “Lay back.”

_Oh._

It took him a moment to find his wits, but he obeyed, rolling off of her and reclining on the wad of wrinkled cloaks that comprised their makeshift bed. And he watched her kneel between his legs, watched her breasts shiver as she adjusted her rumpled skirt around her hips. Felt his cock twitch in anticipation.

“You don’t – I mean, you – Petra, it’s not –“

“Shh,” she said, and laid her palms flat against his chest. “I want to.”

“Ha …”

He might have thought he was dreaming if not for the thrilling reality of her fingers as they skimmed his sensitive stomach, unbuttoned his pants and slowly eased them off his hips. He swallowed with difficulty. In his walnut brain lurked the residual fear that she’d be dissatisfied with him, that she’d find it weird or pathetic.

For a moment, she didn’t touch him; she just stared, her expression inexplicable. He fidgeted anxiously. “I know it’s—“

To his horror, she grinned; he hadn’t expected hilarity to be worse than disgust, yet somehow it was. But before he could yank his pants back on, she caught it between her hands. “You don’t know anything.”

“What? What’re you grinning for, then?”

“It’s just something Wil said.”

“Of course it was.”

She shot him a look, tracing the ridge with her finger, and he shuddered. “She said I’d better hope you had a pretty cock, and you do.”

 _Oh._ He tried not to be overly thrilled with this development, but he felt a dumb grin overtake his face anyway. “It’s not like you’ve seen a bunch for comparison.”

“Well, not like this,” she said. “Not when they were hard.”

“But you have?!”

She didn’t answer; instead she leaned over him, and he felt her breath warm the tip. His heart shuddered dumbly in his chest, and he felt himself tremble beneath her. “You – you don’t have to do—“

Too late; her tongue swept over the head, and he moaned.

~

She had never heard Auruo make such a sound in her life, not even in the months they’d spent learning each other in this closet.  While far enough away from the well-traveled parts of the compound that they didn’t need to be completely quiet, it was still something they attempted to keep, yet now he moaned without any thought towards silence, as if nothing had ever felt so good.

Encouraged, she dragged her tongue down the length of him and back again, and he shuddered hard, hips bucking. His hands fisted loosely in her hair; when she peeked up she saw him watching her, his eyes half-lidded, lips parted: the very face of need.

It was doubly nice, she thought as she learned him; as she licked and sucked, and kissed its tender tip. She liked the taste of his skin, and savored the way each stroke made him gasp. She didn’t think she’d ever get tired of hearing it.

~

Her mouth was exquisite, her tongue like perfection; dimly, he watched her head bob over his cock, felt her press her lips over its every inch before straying to his thighs. And this was lovely too; he shivered, ticklish, when he felt her nip the tender skin. And just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, she took him completely in her mouth.

“A-ah,” he groaned, hips twitching unconsciously. “H-holy fuck.”

She moaned in response, and the timbre of her voice was exquisite too; another set of lips, another laving tongue.

~

She learned, just as he had. She thought perhaps to use her teeth again, since he’d liked that on his thighs, but he flinched away from her when she grazed the tip, wincing.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

She was eager to show him that she could learn as quickly as he had, and doubly eager to make him come. But this was easy enough, she quickly discovered; all she had to do was bob up and down, and push her tongue against his ridge, and soon he was taut as a bowstring, quivering under her hands.

“P-petra,” he moaned, his hand twining in her hair again. “Fuck …”

She couldn’t respond, but she moaned, taking him as deeply as she could. She increased the pace and pressure just slightly, and he made a sound like a gasp, a shivering exhale; she felt his fingers trembling in her hair.

~

This was a thousand times better than his fucking hand. Her mouth was warm and wet, and her tongue dragged luxurious paths up his length, and he thought dizzily that he might actually die from the pleasure of it. He’d never known something could feel this good.

He moved with her, hips following the path of her mouth. Part of him wanted to throw back his head, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He was insatiable, drinking in every single detail so that he would be able to revisit this moment whenever he chose; Petra with his cock in her mouth, bright auburn hair spilling over her pale freckled shoulders, her breasts brushing his thighs.

“Petra –“ he gasped, almost entirely overcome. “I’m – I’m gonna –“

~

In her mouth, he came undone. He trembled and convulsed, pieces of her name broken into a moan as it washed over him, pulled him down.  And it was impossible not to love him in that moment; Auruo, gasping at his most vulnerable. It was impossible not to be overcome.

 ~

At first he couldn’t move or speak, or do anything that proved he was still alive. He was vaguely aware of her moving, slipping under his arm to curl against his chest, and with what little strength he had, he pulled her close. “God …” he said again, awestruck. “Fuck, Petra.”

She covered her mouth with her hand, but when he looked down he saw her pinched, uncomfortable expression.

“Is it awful?!” he blurted.

“It’s just … different.”

“Why’re you trying to be diplomatic?!”

“Because you’re kind of sensitive, Auruo! If I tell you that your come is disgusting and made me gag you’ll get all wounded and offended and I don’t want that!”

He was indeed feeling a bit wounded and offended. “Well you don’t have to do it again if you don’t want.”

“But I  _do_ want,” she said, leaning up to kiss him. “I liked that.”

“Even though it was disgusting.”

“It wasn’t disgusting,” she said, with the long-suffering patience of a martyr. “Just different.” She flashed him a wicked grin. “I’ll have to do it often, so I can get used to it.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so he kissed her hard, and grinned when she giggled against his seeking mouth.

 


	24. Chapter 24

For the last time, the East 102nd congregated at the edge of the course. They arranged themselves in orderly rows without prompting and did not speak amongst themselves; all faced the forest as if each massive tree were a Titan, and their futures depended on swift victory.

Instructors stationed themselves deep inside and perched on newly budded branches. An eager breeze ruffled their notes, but rather that curse the disagreeable weather they cast their eyes to the tree line. Waiting for the shot of a starting pistol, and the whirring rattle of 3DMG cables in flight.

The entire compound stilled as if holding its breath.

Contrary to what one would expect, these tests were not entirely fair. Instructors had their favorites and graded them well, forgave their mistakes– students who had taken to instruction with ease, who shelved the backtalk and instead let their devotion show, their eagerness for mastery. Their ambition.

The Military Police was the typical goal. The Commandant looked at the gathered students as they readied themselves for the examination, and knew with a fair amount of certainty that most aspired to serve the King (or, more likely, aspired to live a life of relative luxury within the Interior). He looked at their young faces and saw hunger, and fear. Only ten would qualify. The rest would have to choose between the Scouting Legion and the Garrison.

A shot echoed through the trees, sending a flock of birds wheeling skyward in a flash of feathers and angry twittering. With no further fanfare, the final test commenced.

Like the instructors, the Commandant had his favorites, and he watched for them with a practiced eye. But unlike the instructors, he held them to a higher standard than he did the rest. Most cadets bumbled their way through the course in an average display of prowess and skill; their reactions marginally proficient, their command of the 3DMG barely acceptable. But his favorites, they soared; a deadly flash of steel, winking through the gloom of the forest.

Because it was required of him, he graded their strengths and weaknesses, as he had done for the last twenty years. He graded the average with dutiful reserve, but his favorites he watched their progress with a bittersweet mixture of pride and regret. This year, more than any other, he was filled with regret.

 _Oskar Haupt_ , he wrote as the massive boy maneuvered through the trees, his cunning features opened by a grin:  _few outstanding strengths, no glaring weaknesses. Almost impossibly well-rounded; competent in whatever discipline we assign him, if not exemplary. He accepts any task he is presented with quiet devotion, as expected in a soldier. Functions best in a group with a clear leader. Skill: 7, Strategy: 4, Speed: 5, Initiative: 3, Teamwork: 9._

The Commandant had only interacted with Oskar once, a few months ago, but it had left an indelible impression. Consumed by curiosity, the Commandant had asked Oskar where he intended to go after disbandment, and after a moment of pause he had said ‘the Scouts’. That familiar stab of regret had twisted in the Commandant’s gut, but he was an old hand at disappointment; without betraying anything he asked the boy why.

Another long pause. Finally, he had admitted, in a voice that did not fit his imposing frame: “For them.” And he’d nodded to his friends.

The Commandant watched Oskar neatly cut the neck out of a Titan dummy before launching forward, too quickly gone from sight.

 _Axel Leitz,_ the Commandant wrote with a sigh, watching Oskar’s gregarious counterpart sail into view.  _Confident, amiable, group-minded. Above average in field work. Quickly gains the trust of his comrades, and able to make good use of this trust. Sometimes reckless, and no good without an audience. Irreverent, but loyal to those who place their faith in him. Skill: 7, Strategy: 7, Speed: 5, Initiative: 8, Teamwork: 10._

None of these scores were a surprise to the Commandant; he had ascertained Axel’s measure in the first month of training this class. But he had been surprised to learn that the boy had decided to join the Survey Corps as well; after making no show of his intent to join the Military Police, this decision seemed abrupt, out of place. Inexplicable.

 _Martin Klossner,_ he wrote when the boy in question appeared. An odd ache resonated somewhere in his chest, and he paused his evaluation for a moment, watching as Martin grappled from tree to tree at a careful, analytical speed. Even from this distance the Commandant could see his brows knit in concentration as he approached a dummy, but to no avail; the cut was strategically placed, but too shallow to make a difference. _Outstanding intelligence, but poor field skills. Pragmatic, rational, scored at the top of his class in all strategic simulations. Should his initiative further improve, he would be well suited to command. Skill: 2, Strategy: 9, Speed: 3, Initiative: 7, Teamwork: 8._

The Commandant watched as Oskar propelled into view once again, circling back to collect Martin. They conferred quickly, the latter offering quick instruction and the former hastening to obey. Martin would indeed be suited to command, the Commandant thought again, if he managed to survive.

A wild, raucous laugh echoed through the trees, and like a streak of white flame Wilhelmina Althaus launched into sight. In a long line of dour-faced recruits, she stood out; delighting in her mastery as she vaulted from tree to tree, laughing again when she cut out a target’s neck with almost offensive ease.

 _Wilhelmina Althaus,_ he wrote, shaking his head as her laughter soared atop the clamor of rattling 3DMG cables. _Remarkable command of the 3DMG, and highly skilled in solo field maneuvers, but her attitude makes her unfit for combined tactics. Regardless, possesses incredible potential. Skill: 8, Strategy: 7, Speed; 8, Initiative: 3, Teamwork: 2_

Unlike the other cadets, who all pretended the Commandant was not there, Wilhelmina met his gaze with eyes like a challenge, flashing him a grin and irreverent salute before executing one of the most impeccable lateral banks he’d ever seen in twenty years of instruction. He wasn’t supposed to have favorites, but she was one of his. She was raw talent honed into skill, a battering ram of a soldier.

He dismissed the thought as another cadet hurtled into view, this one moving so quickly that at first he couldn’t tell who it was. In the end, she was only distinguishable by the strident shade of her hair, which clashed violently with the muted colors of the forest.

She did not laugh, nor did she hesitate; like a bullet from a gun, Petra Ral flung herself at the titan dummy, blades extended, her entire body taut with kinetic potential. There was a particular grace in the way she moved, one that most veterans never achieved. Though the cut was imperfect, her ease in motion nearly made up for it.

 _Petra Ral,_ he wrote, brows knitting.  _Incredible speed, unparalleled agility; while average in field tactic execution, she compensates with willingness to adjust to whomever she fights alongside. Able to modulate offense to support her partners, and in turn augment their strengths. Skill: 6, Strategy: 7, Speed; 9, Initiative: 7, Teamwork: 9._

Indeed; Petra’s offense changed when another cadet burst into his line of sight, and there was no mistaking this addition.

 _Auruo Bossard,_ he wrote, watching as they fell into perfect sync with each other, decimating a row of targets.  _Peerless in field work, average in conception. With a select few, his combined maneuvers are outstanding, yet he is unwilling to extend this beyond his chosen circle of comrades. Still, he shows promise. Skill: 9, Strategy: 5, Speed: 9, Initiative: 8, Teamwork: 5._

And as he watched Auruo break form, wheeling furiously to an unmarked group of targets deeper in the forest, he remembered the scrawny boy from three years ago, who had responded to his goading with an insult and challenge. Where many smarter, more circumspect recruits bowed their heads, Auruo Bossard refused to submit to intimidation, in a way that was somehow terrible and familiar. It had been no surprise to learn where he intended to go.

As the Commandant of East Training regiment, he was required by the King and Commander-in-Chief Zackley to train children into soldiers, and most days he performed his duty well. He set aside personal feelings and misgivings, and educated them as best he could. He judged most of them with reserve, befitting a soldier.

But every now and then he would hear the different ones talk, and that reserve would crumble.

It was always the idealists. He didn’t know why. Perhaps because they were the ones who looked at the Walls and saw a challenge. They looked at Titans and saw an enemy they could defeat. They threw themselves into training for the good of humanity, for glory in battle, for the sake of their family and friends. For the foolish belief that anything they did would make a difference against the advancing enemy. And in a year’s time, more or less, they would be dead.

_What a waste._

As he watched, that stupid boy and bright girl passed beyond his sight, their voices echoing through the lonely trees; ghosts already.

~

On the last night before their journey to Karanese for the disbandment ceremony, everyone assembled in the common hall and spoke in loud, anxious voices. Every now and then the buzzing commotion would be punctuated by a wild bout of laughter or chorus of jeering. It seemed to Petra as everyone attempted to ward off their nervousness by being as loud and rambunctious as possible. On any regular day, their carrying on would earn them a lecture from the Commandant, but today no one bothered. In the morning, they were leaving this place for good; there was no point anymore.

And maybe they’d earned the right to be a little rowdy.

The six of them sat in their customary circle and attempted to carry on as usual. But Axel’s grin was tight, and Oskar studied his upturned palms with a deeply furrowed brow. Martin ran drills on his right forearm for want of his violin, currently packed away with the rest of his things. Auruo’s scowl seemed permanently etched in his features, but he smiled a little when she scooted closer, and shivered when their legs brushed.

It had been almost seven weeks since the last rest day, which meant it had also been almost seven weeks since they last had a moment alone, and every little touch, every small glance shared between them, carried such impossible weight. She saw his hands curl on his thigh, and craved the feel of them on her skin. His desperate touch, ragged breath on her neck, his lips –

She knew it was wrong to think like this. But the weeks of separation and need had made her reckless. There were no more rest days; tomorrow morning they would all pack into carts and make the last journey to Karanese for disbandment. After, they’d be allowed one night home with their families. And the next evening they would take their oaths. With their futures at hand, she felt odd; desperate to steal what last moment they could before everything changed.

Her need was diluted by sadness; in just a few days, Wil would leave her life forever. They’d perhaps see one another during military functions, and of course they would write. But after three years of sleeping in the same bed, of feeling her friend’s deft fingers combing through her hair, her husky laugh and jackal’s grin, letters were a weak substitute.

The thought summoned fast tears, and Petra blinked them away, groping for Wil’s hand.

“Why’re you all so quiet?” Wil wondered, studying Petra’s expression. “You don’t have anything to be nervous about.”

“Just because we’re not going to the Military Police anymore doesn’t mean we don’t want to do well,” Axel pointed out sensibly. “Look at Boss. He never wanted to join the Military Police, and he’s about to bite his thumbnail off.”

Auruo dropped his hands to his lap. “Shut up.”

“He wants to be in the top ten because he’s proud,” Axel continued. “Because he knows he’s better than most of the riff-raff we’ve spent the last three years training with, and wants to see that recognized. Maybe on a superficial level he wants something to brag about. But he needs it too, because it’ll validate his sense of self. And it’ll especially validate his ideals; he’s spent the last three years extoling the virtues of the Survey Corps, in his awful, charming way. Now he’ll especially want to snatch a top spot away from some jerk trying to get into the Interior.”

It was true, therefore it deeply annoyed Auruo. “Would you shut the fuck up?”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Wil said. “You’re all too quiet. If you were really nervous, you’d be making a scene with the rest of the jackasses.” She jerked her head in the direction of their classmates.

“I would not!” Axel said, affronted. “I’m not always a clown.”

“Yeah, you are,” Wil said with a grin, but something about it was wrong; too tight, and it did not reach her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, sure. Have your fun at my expense.”

“It’s not fun when you don’t fight back.”

That was really all one needed to know about their relationship. Axel sighed, defeated. “Look. Maybe we’re all feeling a little nostalgic, you know?”

“I’m not,” Auruo interjected.

“Well, us normal people are,” Axel said, with a wink to Petra. “We spent the last three years here. It’s weird that it’s over.”

“Kind of sad,” Petra agreed. “I didn’t think I’d miss this place.”

“The shitty barracks,” Axel said. “The shitty forest.”

“The shitty food,” Martin offered.

“Yeah, exactly. There’s a lot to miss.”

“Well, where you’re going you’ll just get more of the same,” Wil said in a hard voice. “Another shitty barracks, more shitty food. The Survey Corps gets the worst of everything. So, while you’re off being good people you’ll feel right at home.”

Axel’s brows tented. “Come on, Wilhelmina. Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not being like anything. It’s the truth, isn’t it? If you wanted good food and good quarters you’d join the Military Police.”

“We might not even qualify,” Petra said softly. “I probably won’t.”

Auruo shot her a look. “You’re kidding, right? You’re probably first in the class.”

“Probably not,” she said, picking at her thumb. “My cuts were shallow.”

“You’re the fastest though.”

“Anyway,” Axel interrupted, scowling briefly at them. “Just because things’ll be similar in the Survey Corps doesn’t mean we can’t miss this old place, right? Miss all the good times?”

Wil’s expression had gone complete flat. “Why would you. This place is a dump. Everything that happened here was bullshit.”

Instantly, Petra understood the reason for Wil’s mood, and cursed herself for failing to see it sooner; it should have been obvious from the start. She opened her mouth to assure her friend but Oskar intervened first. “He’s not talking about the training camp,” he said in his slow, soft voice. “He’s talking about you.”

Wil blinked. “What?”

“We’ll miss you,” Oskar reiterated. “We all will.”

“I won’t,” Auruo muttered.

“What the hell, stupid. I was trying to be subtle about it,” Axel said, irritated.

“Why? She didn’t understand.”

“Who cares? She’s going to get pissed now.”

“I’m sitting right here, you know!” Wil shouted.

Axel was unfazed by the outburst. “Yeah, you are. It’s true, alright? I’ve gotten pretty used to having you around. Your snarky asshole shtick. The disgusting way you eat. That crazy flip you do before you land. You’re going to join the Military Police and you’ll probably forget all about us, what – with all that fancy food and those nice beds, and all the fancy people around, but … yeah. I’ll miss you.”

Wil didn’t seem to know what to make of this; she stared at Axel as if she’d never quite seen him before, and in the span of the conversation he’d become a stranger.

“It’s true,” Martin added after a moment. “I’ll miss the way you laugh. I mean, I’ll miss all of you, of course, but you have the best laugh.”

Wil stared, blinking once. “What?”

“You do!” Martin said without any hint of embarrassment, as if he merely confessed a simple fact. “I wrote an etude about it.”

“Geez, Martin,” muttered Auruo. “This a good time?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Petra craned around to briefly study Martin’s face, before shifting her gaze to Auruo’s, where it lingered. “What are you talking about?”

“This fucking weirdo wrote etudes about all your laughs,” Auruo explained. “Like some kind of ear building exercise. Axel, yours is the worst.”

“Well, Auruo helped,” Martin said, fingers flying over his right forearm. “His ear is better than mine.”

“I don’t even know how to read music.”

“Yes, you do,” Martin said, eyes narrowed. “I taught you everything I know. You could write your own songs now if you wanted. You just choose not to.”

“I’m terrible. It takes me ages.”

“But you do know how.”

“Hold on a second,” Axel cut. “You wrote something for all of ours? Even Oskar’s?”

Auruo and Martin seemed to share a silent moment of communication. “Oh, shit. Oskar’s is my favorite, actually. Well, ah – Petra’s is really –“ Auruo trailed off, overwhelmed. “I mean that Oskar’s is creepy and weird as shit, and it sounds the most like it. I think.”

“The exercise was a mixed success,” Martin sighed. “But Oskar’s did come out marginally well.”

“Shut up. You know it’s amazing.”

“It’s not my finest effort, no,” Martin said primly.

“Goddamn, you know how much it pisses me off when you do this shit! You know it’s good.”

“It’s acceptable.”

Auruo glowered at the thin boy for a moment before facing Wil again. “Anyway. Yeah, he wrote a grand sonata about the ‘incomparable beauty’ of your laugh.”

“Well, I think all laughter is beautiful,” Martin explained. “It’s honest. And yours in particular is very musical. So I thought I’d try to translate it to actual music, to remember it.” He smiled somewhat sheepishly. “I hope that isn’t too strange.”

“It’s just about as strange as we’ve come to expect from you,” Axel said. “I want to hear them sometime, alright? When we’re all settled in the Survey Corps or something.” He shot them a winning grin. “Put on one of your concerts.”

“If we have time, I will,” Martin said with a shrug, but he turned to Wil and smiled, no longer sheepish. “We’ll have one in your memory.”

Petra knew he’d meant it kindly, but it was the wrong thing to say; after a moment of wide-eyed pause, Wil hastily reassembled her typical affect – coolly disinterested – but after years of knowing her, Petra saw that it was an act. “Don’t bother.” she said with a casual sneer before getting to her feet. “Don’t sit around thinking about me being gone or whatever, acting all pathetic.” Her lip curled. “You’ll have bigger things to worry about.”

“Wil, come on,” Axel began, but she cut him off.

“I’ll see you assholes in the morning.” And she swept from the room before anyone else could speak.

“I didn’t mean to offend her …” Martin said, staring over their heads, his brows furrowed in concern.

“I told you that etude thing was weird,” Auruo muttered.

“That’s not the problem and you know it,” Petra told him fiercely. “Don’t be a jerk.”

Auruo held out his hands, the very picture of wide-eyed innocence. “I’m just saying! Not everyone wants to be immortalized by an  _etude._ Not to mention it’s a pretty fuckin’ specific part you’re immortalizing. _”_

“I thought it was sweet.”

“You would think it was sweet.”

She glared at him, annoyed that even when he was being irritating, she still kind of wanted to kiss him. 

The conversation resumed without them, and without Wil; somewhat subdued now. Petra still noticed her classmates’ raucous laughter, but it oddly punctuated the otherwise tense silence of the common hall. Perhaps it had finally sunk in that this was their last night, and after three years of routine and training, their adult lives were at hand. Everything would change.

She turned to face Auruo, scooting closer so that their knees brushed. “I’m going to spend some time with her.”

To his everlasting credit, he accepted this with only the slightest frown. “Yeah. Probably should.”

“It’s our last night and all …” She bit her lip before it could tremble.

His gaze dropped to his hands, but she saw his brow furrow, nearly obscured by his hair. “If she was gonna be so upset about it, why doesn’t she just …”

“What? Give up her goal? Follow us?”

“I wasn’t gonna say that.”

“Then what?”

His shoulders unhitched; for a moment, he looked hopelessly lost. “I dunno, Petra. I’m never the right person to ask about this kind of shit.”

“That’s not true.” She couldn’t take his hand here, but she nudged his knee with her own. “Hey, before I go, I wanted to ask you something… in case I don’t get a chance again.”

He looked up. “Hm?”

She couldn’t say it at first. She’d been obsessively rehearsing this particular request in her mind since she’d had the idea a few weeks ago; it had grown vast and thrilling, made all the more so by the sum of Auruo, and how badly she needed him. After tomorrow night they were free from the strictures of training, and not yet claimed by the strictures of their lives in the Survey Corps. And she wanted to be with him, in every way possible.

“I …” She swallowed, summoned her nerve. “I thought maybe you could come over. Tomorrow night.”

He stared. “To – to your house?”

“Yeah, why not?” Breezy, casual shrug; the better to conceal how nervous she was.

She could make neither heads nor tails of his reaction; he seemed only shocked, watching her with wider eyes than she’d ever seen. “Won’t your dad…?”

“I mean, after he goes to sleep.”

Understanding dawned. “O-oh.”

“He’s a heavy sleeper,” she explained. “And you wouldn’t be loud, would you?”

“Depends on what we’d be doing,” he said slowly.

“You wouldn’t be loud,” she said. “I’d remind you.” Suddenly his reticence took a different shape; she realized he might be trying to let her down easy, and a cold twist of rejection curled in her stomach. “If you’d rather not, that’s –“

“N-no! I … yeah. I’d like to come over. I – yeah. I would.” He ran an anxious hand through his hair. “I mean, I’d have to figure out how to sneak away without waking up the brats. Maybe Benoit would … but yeah. Yeah, I’ll come over.”

“We’ll have our ranks by then and everything,” she said. “I’ll want to congratulate you.”

“We only get ranks if we’re in the top ten,” he returned, rolling his eyes.

“You know, I really wish you’d have more faith in your abilities.”

“Yeah? You want me to be one of those puffed-up turkeys, strutting around squawking about how great they are to anyone who’ll listen?”

“Sometimes I think I would!”

“Pfft.”

She nudged his knee again; pleased with his smile, thrilled with their plan. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, and uh …” He trailed off, running his hand through his hair again. “Tell Wil … ah, forget it. Never mind.”

She briefly thought about pressing the issue, but he seemed more reticent than usual, and she didn’t want to push her luck. She had an idea what he’d wanted to say, anyway; she could nearly see it in the angle of his mouth. “I’ll tell her.”

She stood and pushed through the throng of her soon to be former classmates, but before she slipped outside into the cool darkness she glanced over her shoulder; just as she’d known, he was still watching her, and he was smiling.

~

The journey east was as uncomfortable as Auruo expected; an hour before dawn they crammed into the horse-drawn carts, pressed shoulder to shoulder, this time with their belongings shoved under their legs. It was too dark to see, but as the carts rattled on Auruo watched the outline of the camp pass into indistinct darkness, shadows smudged flat.

“So long, and thanks for shit,” Wil said in a carrying voice. She offered a solemn wave to the stretch of night-shrouded barracks behind them. Ahead, sunrise teased the horizon.

Auruo expected most of their peers to take advantage of the journey to catch up on some sleep, but instead anxious speculation filled their cart, the conversations carried in voices too low to be properly heard, yet the tone was clear.

What surprised him even more was that these conversations were punctuated with irritable looks in his general direction. He met them with equal irritation. Most of these people he’d never thought about or spoken to in his time as a trainee, and he found their annoyance inexplicable.

“What the fuck’re they looking at me for?” he muttered to Martin, slouched at his left shoulder.

“Do you really not know?” Martin wondered.

“Obviously I don’t, or I wouldn’t have said anything.”

Martin sighed. “They know you’re taking away a spot. For the Military Police. All of you are.”

“They can’t know that.”

“They suspect.”

“That’s stupid. Getting mad over something they don’t even know will happen.”

Martin shrugged, his thin shoulder brushing Auruo’s.  “Everyone’s nervous. They’ve been working for three years, and where they land will affect the rest of their lives. I think it’s understandable.”

That may have been, but it deeply annoyed Auruo. Though he wanted to take away a Military Police spot from one of these cowards, he didn’t see why he should be held accountable for it before anyone even knew for certain. “I’m gonna be glad to see the back of some of these people,” he muttered.

“Most of them are alright, you know,” Martin said. “Not that I’ve ever talked to them, but I’ve listened.”

Sometimes Auruo was stunned by the difference three years had made in Martin, and the deep connection and concern he showed his surroundings, including people Auruo had dismissed as annoying or unworthwhile. He managed a noncommittal grunt rather than face his friend’s goodness any longer, and they said no more for the rest of the journey.

As the cart bumped over the rain-softened road, Auruo glowered at the horizon. His irritation mingled with anxiety as he thought about tonight; both the ceremony and what would come after. He’d never set foot in Petra’s room before; in fact, he could count the times he’d been inside Petra’s house on one hand. They’d both agreed that the less contact he had with Mr. Ral, the better. But now …

He wasn’t nervous. Why would he be? He didn’t get nervous anymore; in less than a month he’d probably be on his first expedition, with a lot more to worry about than ranks and Petra. What use was it now, over such small matters?

Instantly, he chastised himself; Petra was not and would never be a small matter.

At his other side, she shifted and folded her arms over her knees, resting her head atop. “You can lean on me,” Auruo said before he could consider that the invitation might be too obvious. “If you’re trying to sleep.”  _You could lean on me anyway._

She smiled sleepily and did so, nestling her head against his shoulder. He kept himself from wrapping his arm around her only by the skin of his teeth; that  _would_ be too obvious. “I haven’t been getting much sleep lately.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You know. First it was worrying about the test, and now it’s worrying about the disbandment, and tomorrow it’ll be worrying about taking our vows, and …”

No further elaboration was required. “Yeah.”

“It’ll be nice to be home for a night, though,” she said, shifting slightly, and a breeze carried the scent of her hair. “It’ll be nice to see my dad before we leave.”

“Is he gonna behave and keep his goddamn opinions to himself this time?”

She craned up to look at him, carefully studying his surly expression. “You’re so protective,” she said instead of answering. “It surprises me sometimes.”

“I’m – I’m not,” he muttered, flushing stupidly. “Just sick of his crap.”

She turned away and nestled her head against his shoulder again. “I think he’s finally come to terms with what I want to do with my life.”

“Good.”

“So now you should be nicer to him.”

Auruo couldn’t help the bitter scowl. “Right.”

“Please, Auruo. Why are you so set on carrying a grudge?”

“Why the fuck does it matter what I think of him?”

“Because he’s my father, and you’re … because I care about you. About you both. And I want you to like each other.” She nudged his shoulder with her brow. “Please, Auruo.”

He said nothing. It wasn’t that he thought people weren’t capable of change, because he knew they were, at least in small ways. Perhaps it was some long-held instinct honed from when he’d been younger, at the mercy of those bigger and stronger than him. An apology was a trick as often as it was genuine; once struck, he would expect it for good. 

After a while Petra nodded off, her head bouncing against his shoulder with each slight rattle of the cart. And he didn’t care that they were surrounded by their friends and peers, and that doing so would make the nature of their relationship obvious; he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and let his touch linger.

They arrived in Karanese just after noon. Most of the trainees were directed to one of the ancillary barracks, where they would spend the next week while assigned to their respective branches, but for the few who aspired to the Survey Corps, they would only remain for two nights. Auruo appreciated this, as he did the stipulation that he’d be allowed to spend that time with his family instead of sleeping crammed in a shitty bunk with people he never wanted to see again.

Given firm instructions to meet back by supper and the subsequent ceremony, the trainees were released from obligation to wander the city, and told only not to make trouble. Wil was delighted with this, as was Axel; after dumping her knapsack on her bunk and pushing out into the bright daylight, she spun and clutched Auruo’s arm, a wild gleam in her eye.

“You have to show us around,” she insisted.

Auruo’s response was typical. “I don’t have to do shit.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Axel chimed in, throwing an easy elbow into Auruo’s ribs. “We got the whole afternoon. Might as well take us to see the sights, right?”

“There are no sights,” Auruo grumbled. “It’s a fuckin’ district; the only nice things to see are around the center anyway. Everything else is poor shit.”

“That’s not true at all,” Petra cut in.

“We could see your house?” Martin offered. “Meet your family.”

“My house and family aren’t fuckin’ tourist attractions!”

Petra gently touched his arm, squeezing briefly. “We could see mine too. And take them to the Central Market; that’s a sight, don’t you think?”

He rounded on her. “Why’re you getting into this?”

“They didn’t get to see anything last time, since we were testing all day. Remember? And they’ve never really seen a district city before.”

This was true; their friends had all grown up in remote villages, where the most urban attraction had been the taverns, which were probably much the same anywhere. Auruo sighed; handily defeated. “Fine, goddammit. You do the showing and the talking.”

Petra grinned up at him. “Even when we get to your house?”

“We’re not going to my house.”

“Mhm.”

Sometimes she annoyed the shit out of him. And it irritated him further that even when she was being fucking annoying, he still found her lovely.

With no further fanfare, Petra led them on a whirlwind tour of their home. For someone who had only lived here for a portion of her life, Auruo thought she acquitted herself pretty well; he realized she must have spent more time talking to the denizens of Karanese than he ever had, which didn’t surprise him. She was curious and charitable; she saw people in a kinder light than most saw themselves. And he’d never admit it, but it was nice to see her like this; animatedly detailing the lives and labors of the merchants in the market square, her arm looped tightly through Wil’s. It was nice to see her anyway.

Her natural animation was infectious; everyone hung onto her every word, for she spoke with both authority and empathy. But this had the most profound effect on Wil, who as the afternoon wore on became less recognizable from the bitter girl from the night before. She laughed when Petra did, snickered when Auruo said anything, and cavorted up the streets as if she had never seen a more fascinating place. And perhaps she hadn’t.

Sunk too deeply in his thoughts, Auruo didn’t notice where Petra was leading them until it was too late; ahead was the familiar sight of the blade factory at the unpopulated edge, smokestacks belching out thick, dark clouds that marred the otherwise perfect blue of the sky. A chill rose on the back of his neck; he could almost hear the clang of hammers on steel, the roaring of the forge.

“This is where Auruo worked before he came to train,” Petra explained. “Six days a week, for four years.”

“No wonder you’re such a bitter piece of shit,” Wil said, squinting at the tiny, soot-smudged windows.

“Geez, Boss. You’d think you’d be a solid chunk of muscle, working steel for that long,” Axel said with a straight face. Behind him, Oskar snickered.

Auruo did not dignify this with a retort. “Alright, you’ve seen the fuckin’ factory. Can we move on?”

Martin said nothing for a moment, his brow furrowed at he studied the patterns of smoke against the sky. “What was it like?”

“What?”

“To work there. What was it like?”

Auruo’s lips twisted. The last thing he wanted was to enumerate the various ways in which working with steel had been miserable, how every work day seemed somehow to contain ten, how every hour that passed was like a year. How exhausted he always was, how hard it had been to breathe, especially in months of extreme heat or cold. How his father had worked there for almost thirty years, and would continue to do so until he was killed in an accident or died of black lung.

Finally, he shrugged. “It was a job.”

By early evening Petra had shown them nearly everything of interest in Karanese. None of it had been a surprise to Auruo, but in an odd way seeing it with his closest friends made the place seem novel, as fresh and exciting as it was to them. He was feeling inexplicably fond; of his home city, of these weirdos he couldn’t seem to cut out of his life. 

“We should probably get getting back,” Petra said with a regretful shrug.

Wil pouted. “Aw, but we didn’t see Boss’s house yet! Or meet his cute family.”

“Ah, well,” Petra sighed. But when she caught Auruo’s eye, she winked. And he loved her all over again.

They pooled what little money they had on them – Martin contributed the most, being that his family were farmers – and bought the customary pouch of sugared walnuts, eating them and talking amongst themselves at the inner gate. And Auruo remembered a similar day many years ago, where he and Petra had done the same.

As he listened to Wil regale their group with one of her favorite anecdotes, he felt an odd pang of homesickness. He could make neither heads nor tails of this stupid reaction; he  _was_ home, for only a few days, and everything was almost exactly as he remembered. It took him a moment to realize that he was feeling nostalgic for the training camp, for the dingy barracks and utilitarian dining hall, and the disgustingly bland meals served three times a day. He hadn’t been sad to leave the place behind until he realized that he could never go back.

“You okay?” Petra asked, her amber eyes huge with concern. And he remembered training at her side, slogging through a muddy forest for sprint trials until he felt like his lungs would burst. Remembered Martin humming his endless etudes in the darkness of their barracks. Remembered Axel holding court in the common hall, Oskar always nearby. He thought about kissing Petra in the stilted pavilion, and none of it he would ever see again.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just thinking.”

“Don’t be nervous,” she said, misunderstanding. “You’ll see.”

“Boss is nervous?” Wil said, craning over.

“Don’t be nervous, Boss.”

“Now look what you started,” Auruo muttered, but he couldn’t even find the heart to be annoyed anymore.

“Come on, talk to us,” Wil said. He thought he saw a trace of her previous sadness, and it seemed she meant  _talk to me._ He remembered with a pang that today was the last day any of them would have with Wil too; tomorrow they’d leave for the Survey Corps, and she’d head off to the Military Police. “You’ve been so quiet today.”

“I’m as quiet as I usually am.”

“Boss. Come on. You’re usually grumping and being a giant pissy baby about everything. Today you’ve barely said a word. What’s wrong?”

His struggle with expressing himself took a frustrating turn; he didn’t have the words for the murk churning in his head, and he wasn’t sure he would want to say it even if he could. It was weak, and it was  _stupid._ The six of them had spent a lot of time complaining about the various inconveniences and indignities of their lives as trainees; it made no sense for him to miss them now.

But he couldn’t deprive them; especially not Wil, on their last day together. “It’s just … weird.”

“What’s weird.”

He made an exasperated sound and carded a hand through his messy hair. “That it’s over.”

Axel was the first to react. “What … training?”

“What the hell else could I be talking about?! Yeah, training.”

“Boss,” Wil said, an odd, tremulous note in her voice. “You  _do_ care.”

“What the hell?! I just said it’s weird that it’s over! Not that I’m gonna – not that I’ll –“

“Shh,” Wil said, clamping her hand against his mouth. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

He shoved her off. “You’re so fuckin’ stupid.”

“Well,  _I’ll_ miss it,” Axel said. “I don’t care if that’s not what you’re talking about; I’ll miss some of it. I’ll miss Instructor Hall. That was one handsome woman, you know what I’m saying? God. The way she walked …”

“She’s like forty,” Wil said.

“Exactly. She must know so many things …”

Petra kicked his feet. “You’re disgusting.”

He evaded her, snickering. “I’ll miss the way people would talk after a long day. The difference between people talking at breakfast and at supper. It’d be like this … quieter kind of buzz. Subdued, or something. It was nice – there was a nice routine to it, you know? Like a watch getting softer and slower before you wind it up again.”

Auruo had never noticed this; Martin, however, nodded in quiet agreement. “I’ll miss the course,” he said. “Not working on it, but how it would get when we wouldn’t use it for a few days, how you could always hear the animals inside. Birds calling. It reminded me of home. The forest behind my house, right next to the fields.”

The six of them digested this in silence for a moment. Auruo thought it strange that while they’d discussed their nostalgia the night before, huddled as they usually did in the common hall, today it was more heartfelt. More honest. “I’ll miss my hideouts,” Wil said finally. “There’s some I didn’t even tell you about, lamb.”

Petra grinned, nudging her gently. “Tell me now?”

Wil made a grand show of thinking about it, but Auruo could tell she’d made up her mind to capitulate the moment Petra asked. “Shit, you’re going to be mad at me for this one.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Not because I didn’t share, but because it’s so risky. It was in the instructor’s barracks. One of their closets.”

“ _Wil!”_

“I told you you’d be mad!” Wil said, delighted. “I fucking told you!”

“Why would you take such a stupid risk!?” Petra demanded.

“Because the risk made it amazing,” Wil shot back. “Made it exciting. Sometimes you just have to add a little something extra, otherwise it’s boring.”

Petra looked as if she dearly would like to retort, but seemed to think better of it at the last moment. “I’ll miss … oh, this is so stupid.”

“Come on! You have to tell us,” Wil said, jostling her. “We all said.”

“Oskar hasn’t yet,” Auruo pointed out.

“Oskar, tell us what you’ll miss so Petra has to.”

Oskar was quiet for a long moment, watching the milling crowd and the Garrison soldiers that minded the gate, their expressions hopelessly bored. One fiddled with a deck of cards, shifting the worn pieces through his fingers. Finally, he shrugged and shook his head.

“You won’t miss anything?!”

He shook his head again. “Almost everything I care about is coming with me.”

No one could think of anything to say to this. “Geez,” Auruo muttered; once again humbled by the quiet devotion this impossible boy showed them all.

Wil swallowed hard and turned back to Petra, stubbornly maintaining her animated expression; if he didn’t look at her eyes, he might almost be convinced by it. “Your turn.”

“I … I won’t really miss anything about the camp!” Petra said, shrugging desperately. “I agree with Oskar. Almost everyone I care about is coming with me. I’ll just miss you. I’ll miss bunking with you, and I’ll miss hearing you talk in your sleep. I know you don’t want me to talk like this, and – and I said I wasn’t going to, but … well, you asked!”

This didn’t surprise Auruo; between them, she was the always the one looking ahead, consumed by new ideas and passions, by such lovely enthusiasm for life and its promise. He was the anxious one, the pessimist. He was the one who looked behind.

Wil could no longer seem to keep up the façade of uncaring zeal; she bit savagely at her lip and shook her head, letting it drop against Petra’s shoulder, defeated. “You said you weren’t going to say anything.”

“You asked!” Petra repeated indignantly, scrubbing at her eyes. “Do you want me to lie?”

“Yeah, lamb. Sometimes I want you to lie.”

Petra could no more lie than she could be cruel; they all knew it, but none better than Auruo. Her honesty was as deeply a part of her character as that same passion. To her credit, she said nothing; seeming to understand that this was no real suggestion and instead was borne from desperate sadness. And in that silence, the six of them remained for a long time.

~

Dusk soon fell. Two hundred trainees stood at attention in the courtyard of the ancillary barracks, their faces bathed by flickering torchlight. They wore their anxiety on taut features, their pride and fear, and the Commandant could see it as clearly as he could see his own hands. It was so familiar, achingly so. Each class that had come before was the same.

In previous years he’d pontificate for nearly an hour on their accomplishments, on everything they had seen and done in the last three years, how their futures were now at hand. He no longer found it necessary; a waste of words, a waste of breath. They all knew what waited for them, and if they didn’t they would soon learn.

“When I call your name, step forward,” he said, his voice carrying across the compound. Every child in the audience pulled themselves taller; squared shoulders and straightened backs. Praying. “In ascending order.”

“Lukas Weiman, Konrad Haas.” Whispers and chattering; the boys in question wore smug grins as they took their places at the front of the class. They’d scraped into the elite by the skin of their teeth, but the Military Police was open to them regardless of their rank among the top, and they knew this.

“Kirsten Bosch, Oskar Haupt.” Massive boy and miniscule girl took their places in turn, the former with an expression of sweet surprise. He hadn’t thought himself worthy. Going by everything the Commandant understood of Oskar Haupt, this was no surprise.

“Johanna Mueller, Petra Ral.” The dark girl’s expression was one of fierce pride, but the ginger stumbled on her feet as she made her way to the front of the courtyard, her pretty features open with astonishment. Slowly, a smile took its place.

The Commandant swallowed, hands tightening behind his back. “Gretchen Schumacher, Wilhelmina Althaus.”  Both girls took their places confidently, without surprise; as if they had expected nothing less. Wilhelmina’s expression was particularly gloating; she met some unknown face in the crowd and shot them a gleeful smirk.

There was no reason to pause now, but the Commandant did anyway. His mouth was dry; he swallowed again with difficulty, heart thudding against his ribs. He could change these names if he wished, but it would change nothing else, and would further deprive these two of what they’d rightfully earned. “Auruo Bossard … Axel Leitz.”

The larger boy shot a gleeful elbow in his companion’s ribs, but Auruo Bossard did not seem to notice; he strode ahead, his questioning gaze darting to the Commandant’s. He had never seen such a look on the boy’s face – nor had he ever seen a look like it on anyone else. Earnest disbelief, somehow. It was true, yet it had not yet registered.

The gathered cadets were silent now; disappointment was nearly palpable in the cool air, but among his chosen ten he could sense their mingled amazement and pride, like blazing fires against his cold hands. “These are your elite,” said the Commandant to the gathered group. “Now offer me your hearts.”

They leapt to united salute, their fists clenched hard over their hearts. And as he stared at these elite soldiers, these children, he thought again that it was a terrible waste; that everything in their lives had brought them to this moment, and everything beyond it would be nothing like they imagined. Scholars and artisans they might have been in a better world; here, they guarded the walls, they guarded the King. They killed and were killed by Titans.

It was inevitable.

He let out a slow, measured breath, and faced his child soldiers. “The East 102nd is now disbanded.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's some nsfw in the last 1/5th of the chapter! Thanks for reading and your feedback, everyone!

Auruo lay on a mattress that was no longer his, listening to his parents in the other room. His mother was still crying; he could hear her breath hitching as she tried to restrain her sobs, his father’s steady voice winding below. She’d been crying for hours, since the end of their disastrous dinner; when asked, she insisted it because she was proud and happy (“Second in your whole class,” she’d wept) but he knew.

Three years ago he’d felt only temper when confronted with her fear; tonight, he almost felt as if he understood it.

It was odd. He no longer inhabited his usual perspective, those stances as familiar as his own body, the reliable twist of muscle and sinew. He’d kept his head down and trained for three years, and somehow divorced himself from the reality of his future, but tonight it was no longer abstract. He only had to listen to his weeping mother to realize that what she feared was not so far outside the realm of possibility. He could die.

A better person might remain with his hurting family. He’d stay and listen to their fears. He’d hug his brothers and hold his mother’s hand and tell them the whole night until dawn that he’d do his best. He’s remind them that he’d be careful and cautious and wouldn’t do anything stupid, and that he had three years of training that would help him survive. But after an evening of doing so, he was exhausted and needful, scrubbed raw by their fear, the same fear he was trying to convince himself not to feel.

He knew it made him a worthless coward, but he needed Petra. Not even physically; tonight, he just needed the comfort of her presence. Her hands in his hair, her lovely voice in his ears. He needed her softness, her kindness, her hope.

He waited in darkness until his mother’s weeping faded away, and he could hear his father’s soft snores slip between the cracks in the walls. It was so familiar to him, the sounds of this house – the creaking old rafters, the loose shutter by his window that was a nuisance in early autumn and a threat in winter. Down the street voices caught and curled on the cool night air, wafting from the tavern at the head of the street; in a few hours, even its desperate patrons would trudge home to take their rest.

He recognized these familiar things with distance that unsettled him. They were the same, but he was not. Before he’d thought that he’d been lucky to have one last chance to visit home and see his family before assignment, but suddenly he was hopelessly envious of his peers; they slept in the barracks, consumed by thoughts of the future. Ranks and branches, rank and file. The past did not touch them.

Petra would understand. If he knew anything about Mr. Ral, this night must have been harder for her than it’d been for him, and tomorrow morning would be even worse. It would be the morning of goodbyes. He couldn’t stand the thought.

Heart hammering in time with his growing anticipation, he waited – for all sound to stop, for the room to still. He waited for the moon, climbing to its high seat in the sky. A few neighborhoods over, Petra would be watching the same moon, waiting in the same way. Otherwise she wouldn’t have invited him over, and with it the risk of discovery.

When the waiting grew impossible, he pushed himself out of bed, shrugging into a thin shirt and slipping into his shoes. Every movement was slow and silent, so as not to wake his brothers. It had taken him a long time to coax them to sleep – if they woke now, they’d wake his parents and he’d have to come up with a plausible lie for being awake at this hour, which was the last thing he wanted. He’d caused them enough trouble tonight.

His hands shook as he pulled at the window latch, and he winced when it creaked; the sound was deafening in the dead silence. He craned around quickly for any sign of his brothers stirring, but there was nothing. Christophe lay on his bedroll with limbs splayed and mouth hanging open, Etienne clinging determinedly to his side. Didier and Francois slept in a similar pile. Only—

“What are you doing?”

A frozen moment, then Auruo’s shoulders dropped. “You should be sleeping,” he said wearily.

Benoit did not move; in the moonlight, his dark eyes seemed almost grey, fathomless as mist. They narrowed as they took in the sight of Auruo perched on the windowsill, clearly about to escape. “What are you doing?” he asked again.

This was exactly what Auruo hoped to avoid; waking his brothers, waking his parents, and disappointing them with his cowardice. He dropped from the window and slumped back onto the dingy mattress. “C’mere for a minute.”

Benoit was a far better person than Auruo, or anyone; faced with this betrayal, he didn’t leave Auruo hanging or let him stew in guilt. He shuffled instantly to Auruo’s side, crawling over and wedging himself under Auruo’s outstretched arm. In the face of this goodness, Auruo decided to offer some of his own – not bravery, but honesty. “I was going to see Petra,” he admitted in a whisper.

Benoit nodded; this made sense to him. “’Cause her dad’ll be upset, so she’ll be upset too.”

“What?”

“Isn’t that why you’re going?” Benoit asked, blinking up at him. “Because Mom was upset, so you’re upset?”

Auruo had often thought that Benoit was mature for his age; possessed with some internal reserve that enabled him to see through the pretenses of those around him. He could discern everything with such ease that Auruo marveled; he’d known Benoit all his life, yet in his absence there had developed a side to his younger brother that he would never really understand.

 _Honesty_ , Auruo reminded himself. “Yeah,” he sighed. “That’s right.”

Benoit was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“What’re you sorry for? You didn’t do anything.”

“I told Mom not to cry tonight.” Benoit blinked up at him again. “I know you don’t like it.”

“Shit, Benny. She was gonna cry anyway.”

Small shoulders shrugged, brushing against Auruo’s ribs. “But it was your only night home. She could cry any other night and it wouldn’t have meant anything.”

He swallowed hard. “Does she cry a lot?”

“Not that much,” Benoit said quickly.

“C’mon. Be honest.”

There was a pause. “Sometimes she does, when she reads your letters. But she likes them. We all do. Please don’t stop sending them, okay?”

“I wasn’t gonna.”

But he thought about what it would be like for his family if he died and the letters stopped coming, and how it seemed regardless of what he did, what sacrifices he made for them, he couldn’t seem to keep from causing them trouble. He had never considered it fully – instead choosing to interpret his mother’s feelings on the subject of his survival as an insult. But how could she feel any differently? Sometimes, Survey Corps expeditions returned through the Karanese gate, battered nearly beyond recognition, their uniforms spattered with blood. And he’d been loudly insisting to anyone who would listen since he was ten that he was going to join them, he was going to fight for humanity. He was a few hours from this decision, and only now did it really occur to him the weight of what he’d chosen for himself, and inadvertently inflicted on his family.

“I keep them all,” Benoit was saying, tapping the back of his heel against a dilapidated hatbox, half under the bed. “Your letters.”

And he didn’t know why, but the admission, spoken without shame or censure, made his throat tight. He swallowed again, thinking that he’d swallowed more tonight than he had in his whole life. “Why?”

“So I can read them again whenever I want.” Benoit said this as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Geez. You know they’re just – they’re nothing.”

“They aren’t nothing,” Benoit said, and he wedged himself closer into Auruo’s side. “I know you don’t like it when people talk like this, but I miss you. And it’s better having them to read whenever I miss you especially. Like I can almost hear you saying what you wrote.”

Not only had Auruo inexplicably acquired a group of friends who were better than him, his own brother had surpassed him in every possible way. Auruo could no more imagine talking frankly about these things than he could imagine himself taking a stroll on the surface of the sun. He wasn’t jealous, rather filled with awe that he could be related to someone so good.  _Honesty,_ he reminded himself again, swallowing the grief. “I –“

“I know,” Benoit said quickly. “And anyway, I wasn’t telling you to make you upset. I just thought maybe you forgot, so I should remind you.”

“How could I forget?”

Benoit shrugged again, his small face uneasy. “I saw your face during dinner.”

“Of course you did.” He sighed, and Benoit sighed too. “How old are you now, anyway? Like thirty or something? Geez.”

Benoit looked up at him, his expression sweetly puzzled. “I’m almost ten.”

“I know that, dummy. I’m just saying, ‘cause you don’t act like any almost ten-year old I ever knew.”

“How many ten-year olds have you known, though?”

Though his heart wasn’t really in it, Auruo smirked, musing Benoit’s dark hair until the boy squeaked. “I’ve known plenty, you little shit.”

“You only knew Petra, and she was only ten for a few months. And you didn’t have any friends before her.”

“So you’re the expert now?”

“That’s what mom says. She says you got into fights every week.”

“Well, she would know, huh? But I bet you’re keeping out of trouble?”

Benoit’s shoulders hitched, and at that moment Auruo recognized the gesture as one of his own.  “I just read a lot. People leave me alone at school because I’m quiet and boring.”

“You’re not boring, brat,” he said gently. “You’re smart. Dumb people like me don’t know what to make of smart people. We just get into fights ‘cause we don’t how else to be. But you’re better than that; you think about things, and understand people. And that’s good – that’s better than being mad and getting into fights, that’s for sure.”

“You think?”

For a moment, he wasn’t a soldier about to go off to war; he was the eldest again, looking out for his little brat brother, and it was so familiar. He would miss this more than he could ever say. “Yeah.”

Benoit said nothing, but his arms tightened around Auruo with both comfort and desperation. And he knew that it had been the right thing to say. He wasn’t good at much, but he was good at this. After a long silence, Benoit looked up at him again, his little face resolute. “You can go, if you want. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’ll stay until you go to sleep.”

But Benoit shook his head. “You should go now. Petra doesn’t have any brothers or sisters to talk to.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” That he thought of what Petra might need was only further proof of his goodness; he’d come a long way from the toddler that cried at the top of his lungs for weeks straight. “You know we’ll be around all day tomorrow, right? ‘Cause the ceremony isn’t until the evening, and that’s when we have to report.”

“Yeah.” Benoit slipped away and burrowed deep under the covers, pulling them to his chin.

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

It was testament to some inexplicable source of faith in Benoit that he accepted this flimsy promise with a bright smile; never mind that Auruo had proven again and again not to be worthy of it. “Okay.”

Auruo clambered back onto the windowsill, but he hesitated over the threshold, perched there like a thief, a stranger in his own home. For almost his entire life, he had belonged here – his knowledge was intimate and dear, irreplaceable. But as he gazed at his brothers and strained to hear his parents in the other room, still reeling from the disaster and grief he had inadvertently inflicted, it became clear that this was a place that no longer belonged to him.

~

Petra lay on her back and watched shadows play on the ceiling, long stretches of muted light lengthening as the moon rose. She’d lain in still silence for hours, since she and her father had wished each other a tenuous good night, but her heart raced madly, thrumming against her ribs.

She wouldn't allow herself to think of this night as her last. There was furlough, and she’d be coming back. No sense in sadness, for this was no goodbye. But everything – her unease, her need, her father’s grief– rolled into a tight ball of anxiety and settled somewhere in the pit of her stomach. The only thing for it now was to wait for Auruo. At least then she wouldn’t have to think anymore.

More than she had in a very long time, she missed her mother -- she ached for her guidance and reassurance, the breadth of her experience only an earnest question away. She never brushed Petra off, not even when she was sick or exhausted, not even when she was dying.  She would have liked Auruo; she would have loved how much he cared about her. Her mother could always get her father to relax, to laugh -- to forget that he was afraid or unhappy, and she missed that too. She missed the way her mother smelled -- like wet earth and sunlight and spice -- and she missed the way her mother would always kiss her nose before she left for the night.  Most days Petra accepted the injustice of having lived more than half her life without her, bore it as cheerfully as she could, but today it hurt so badly and so deeply that she couldn't breathe. 

She wondered what her mother would say to her now. Would she be proud, or terrified? Would she be sad?

Burrowing under the twisted blankets, she closed her eyes and hugged her knees to her chest. And at that moment, the sound of gentle tapping against the glass filled her silent room, nearly loud as a gunshot. She lurched upright and threw the blankets aside; through the window, she could see the top of Auruo’s head, his hair catching silver in the moonlight.

She crossed the room in a few trembling steps and wrenched open the window, peering down at him; he was a little flushed, and his eyes were both bright and sad. But he smiled, one shoulder hitching a little in apology. “Hi,” he said, and she almost laughed. She’d worried for nothing.

Before she could say anything, he jumped up and grabbed the windowsill, and she gripped his arms; they proceeded to haul him clumsily into her room, flailing and kicking as quietly as they could. He grunted in pain when his knee smashed on the ledge, and she stifled her slightly hysterical laughter against his shoulder.

“Careful,” she chided.

His expression of incredulous betrayal was the most wonderful thing she’d seen all night. With one last groan, she hefted him inside just as he pushed off the ledge; together they toppled to the floor in a tangled mess of limbs and whispered laughter. “Fuck,” he wheezed against her cheek. “You smashed my kneecaps.”

“Auruo.”

“I’ll never walk again.”

She clapped her hand over his mouth. “Shh.”

His fingers curled on top of hers, and he pulled her hand away before leaning down to kiss her. Her breath caught, live at the back of her throat. His lips were just as soft as she remembered, and the taste of them was exactly right, so distinctly Auruo that she would have known them even if blind to everything else. Dimly she wondered if it would always be like this, and every time she kissed him there would be something new between them – some facet of life that sweetened the gesture, or made it bittersweet.

Too soon he broke away, holding her closely and burying his face against her neck. It took her a moment to realize he was trembling. “Auruo?”

“Mm.”

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing…” His fingers twined in her hair, and she felt his lips touch her jaw, his breath warming tender skin. “It’s nothing.”

She took his face between her hands, noted the angle of his brows. “Can we get off the floor now?”

“You mean this wasn’t what you had in mind for tonight?”

She pinched his hip. “Don’t be a twit.”

“You’re the twit.”

She clambered back into her bed and pulled him in after her, stifling the giggle when she saw him hesitate over the threshold as he slipped out of his shoes, his expression twisted with mild anxiety. “It’s not going to bite,” she assured him. “And I won’t either.”

“Might as well go home then,” he said and smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If you’re going to be boring.”

She tugged his arm and he toppled into the sea of mused blankets. There were a few moments of restless confusion as they situated themselves in a bed built for only one person; she wanted him on top of her again, but instead he turned onto his slide and slung his arm around her waist, twining their legs together.

They didn’t speak at first. She thought it might be merely is reaction to their proximity, to her room and bed, toward the night of possibility that spread out before them. But he didn’t try to kiss her again; instead he let his head tip forward to rest against her shoulder, shivering when her hand skimmed up the curve of his back.

He said something, but it was muffled by the fabric of her nightshirt. She drew away slightly. “What?”

“Are you alright?”

“What?!”

“I mean, after –“ He trailed off, frustrated. “Your dad?”

Her hands slid from his shoulders to frame his face, thumbs skimming his cheek. “He was okay. It was … better than I expected, honestly. He didn’t even mention tomorrow, or make any comments about it being –“

“Goodbye,” Auruo finished in a strangled voice.

She nodded. “We just played cards and stayed up a little later than usual. He might’ve stayed up all night if he didn’t have to mind the shop tomorrow, but he’s expecting a lot of business.” She bit her lip. “Maybe it'll be different in the morning. But tonight was okay.”

Auruo was quiet for a moment. “Good,” he said, ducking his head again. “That’s good …”

It was the absence of a biting, sarcastic comment at her father’s expense that confirmed Auruo’s strange mood; he’d been acting a little oddly since he arrived, but now she was certain something was troubling him. She cupped the back of his neck and met his downturned gaze. “Auruo, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

He pursed his lips, the muscles under her hands tightening. “It’s –“

“Don’t say it’s nothing. You know I know you’re upset.”

Any other day he’d have argued with her; tonight, his shoulders only slumped, and when he looked up again she saw the weight of the world in those hazel depths. “I don’t even know how to explain it,” he admitted finally.

“Start at the beginning,” she said gently, and she leaned close to press a soft kiss to his lips. “You have all night.”

“You’d be okay with me talking about this bullshit all night?”

“I’d be okay with anything you did tonight,” she told him. “I’m just happy you’re here.”

“Geez …” he whispered, and he pulled her close to kiss the side of her head. “Where'd you even come from?”

“From Callet village,” she whispered brightly. “Then Karanese.”

And when he smiled, it was a little warmer than before – a little more genuine. It didn’t last long, but she was thankful it had been there at all. “Alright,” he said with a little steadying breath.

She waited quietly, twining her fingers in his wayward curls and pushing them back from his brow. And for once he didn’t seem to have a problem with this; he leaned into her touch, as if it gave him strength. “I got back from the ceremony and I just kinda … stood there on the stoop for a minute. I don’t – it was weird. I could feel it being weird before I even took a step inside.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah. You know how my mom always gives me a hard time, says that only strangers knock, and since I belong there I can just barge in whenever I come home, whenever I feel like. Maybe that’s why everything was bullshit the whole night, ‘cause I hesitated. I’ve been thinking about it, trying to figure out why, and I think – I think that’s probably it. I caused it somehow, when I just stood there and made to knock.”

She said nothing, slightly alarmed by the way his voice trembled. She’d never seen him so blatantly upset about anything; usually he attempted to conceal his feelings with a sarcastic word or smug grin, but he made no such effort now.

“It’s alright at first; Mom’s there and she’s – like hugging me and stuff, and smiling all big but – but kinda fake, you know? Like it didn’t look like a real smile, ‘cause it was so stiff. You know what I mean?”

She nodded.

“So she’s just – like grabbing the brats and getting them all rounded up for supper, and – and it was kinda nice. Almost like any other night, you know? Benoit’s being all serious as usual, and Christophe is yelling because Etienne threw a spoon at him. Just the regular madhouse.”

He took a breath, as if to fortify himself. “So anyway, Dad gets home and we all sit down, and – it’s alright at first. He’s so tired just like every night – I –I mean, every night that I remember, anyway. Can hardly keep his eyes open. He wouldn’t tell me what happened until I really bugged him about it, but I guess there was some trouble at the mill.”

She paused, her fingers still against his temples. “Trouble?”

He drew a long breath through his nose, eyes cast down. “One of the refineries blew up and killed a couple guys.” She felt him shiver under her touch. “They like to talk about how they keep it from happening that much, but sometimes there’s just … anyway. I mean, remember the accident the year before we left?”

“Of course,” she whispered, chilled. She could see the ominous smoke rising from the mill all the way from her home, and she’d spent the whole day with her heart in her throat, praying that Auruo and his father were safe, that no one had been hurt. 

“It’s, uh … it’s terrible. Depending on what kind of accident, you gotta go digging for the bodies, and they – the smell –“ He trailed off again, sickened. “Anyway, I guess one of the guys that died was a friend of his. Mr. Baker. Remember him?”

Tears leapt to her eyes. “God, no …”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “So he was upset. Apparently this happened in the morning and they spent the whole day just trying to get it cleaned up, and … I mean, you know my dad. Like he never lets anyone know when he’s upset. Barely says a word. Puts up a big, happy face about everything even when it’s all shit. And he – he’s doing that same smile thing that Mom was, where it doesn’t look real. He’s tired and his good friend died and he had to clean up charred pieces of him all day, and fuck – maybe the first time something like that happened he’d have been a wreck, but he’s been working there for almost thirty years so it’s just … it just happens. It’s something you deal with, because your family needs you to. So this shit happened and he’s clapping me on the back telling me he’s so proud of me ‘cause I’m second in the class, and I’m going on to do great things, blah blah …”

“You don’t think he was being genuine?”

“No, that’s – that’s the problem, he  _was._ Like he’s just– he’s pleased with me because he knows that this is what I’ve wanted and been working for, and it doesn’t really matter that he’s upset about it, and scared something might happen, and upset in general ‘cause of all the shit that happened today. ‘Cause that’s what’s going on, I – I dunno. I just got this feeling that he was looking at me and thinking that tomorrow I’m going off to the Survey Corps, and he’ll have to hear about me dying secondhand. Maybe he was wondering if that’d be better than being there, having to clean up the mess, like he had to do today with Mr. Baker. Maybe he wasn’t thinking about that at all, just that it would be – just that it’ll probably happen, and he’s gotta spend my last night home talking about how thrilled he is that I’m choosing to go get killed by Titans or some shit.”

“God, Auruo …”

He swallowed again. “And that’s when I realized that they were all kinda doing something like that. Like when it really sunk in that they were putting up a face. There’s my dad after one of the worst days he’s had in a long time with this big, tired smile, and he kept patting my back, like he’s trying to commit it to memory or something. And Mom, she’s – she’s dolloping the biggest serving on my plate, like we do with guests. And she knew I noticed, but she did it anyway. And – fuck, that’s not the way it’s supposed to be. When I still lived at home Dad always got the biggest serving, ‘cause he worked. And the brats got what they needed, ‘cause they’re growing. And I’d take as little as I could away with, because she’s always giving me too much, and I tried to again tonight – you know, telling her ‘ease up, I’m not that hungry, ha ha’ but she wouldn’t have it. Just kept spooning more and more on my plate. And it’s just like she treats the guests. Like she treats you, when you come over. It – it was …” He shook his head, chewing savagely at his lip. “I’m not even a part of them anymore.”

She could bear it no longer; she cupped his dear face between her hands and fixed him with the most determined expression she could muster. “That isn’t true,” she told him. “It might’ve seemed strange because tonight’s your last night before you join and they don’t know what to expect. They know you’re second and you’re skilled, but they don’t have any context for that knowledge. They see the expeditions come back and they’re afraid. But they don’t know how amazing you are …”

He was already shaking his head. “Because I got second? Like no one who ever got in the top ten died out there before.”

“Don’t say that,” she whispered. “You can’t think things like that.”

“No?”

She stroked his cheek with her thumb, brushing his lip. “We have to believe we’ll be okay. Remember?”

He couldn’t meet her eyes. “What difference does it make?”

“All the difference in the world …” She kissed him gently, and after a moment he softened against her. “If you know yourself and have faith in yourself and the people around you, you’ll be okay.”

“It can’t be that simple …” he disagreed after a moment. “What about all the people who die? You saying they don’t believe, or whatever?”

“Maybe they forget how to, fighting so long in the Survey Corps. Or maybe the new ones see a Titan and forget they can do anything.”

But he shook his head, and his soft hair brushed her brow. “How am I supposed to tell my family that? ‘I’m coming back ‘cause I believe I’m gonna?’ It’s just – it’s not –it’s not something they can hold on to.“ He pursed his lips. “It’s not enough for them. Fuck, Petra, I didn’t even tell you the worst part.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, wiggling closer. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Nah, you don’t – fuck. That’s not what I – you know, I should just shut the hell up. We only got a few hours left.”

She peeked over his head at the window, quickly gauging the height of the moon. “Five hours or so before sunrise.”

“Still …”

“I want to hear about it,” she insisted softly, tracing the furrow between his brows. “And then I want to make you feel better.”

He took a trembling breath and pulled her closer, his fingers sliding from hip to waist. “God, nag.”

She stroked the back of his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m your captive audience.”

That made him smile; a brief flash, gone when she blinked. “Alright. So, uh … so I’m sitting there with this massive plate of food, way more than I know she can spare. I start thinking about how she probably had to scrounge for weeks to do it, and it’s making me sick. And she doesn’t even sit down until dinner’s half over; she’s just bustling around trying to keep her hands busy. I dunno. She keeps talking about how I’m second in my class in this awful, wavery little voice, like she’s a second away from bawling. And everyone’s pretending they can’t hear it.

“And after I noticed this, I started noticing that even the brats were acting weird. Benoit was like – it’s kinda hard to explain. He was … like keeping this real stern eye on everything. Christophe started getting loud and upset and he just shot him this look that said ‘ _shut up’_ and – the weirdest part was the Christophe did. They were all just – walking eggshells.”

“Even Francois?”

He closed his eyes. “No, not him. I … so, I dunno how it happened. I guess he started picking up on the weird atmosphere because he started getting really fussy, and I mean he’s two so it’s not like Benoit’s  _shut up_ face was going to do anything. But the worst part was that he kept looking at me and then his face would screw up, and I just – like at first … I dunno. I don’t even know what I thought at first. Like maybe it was just him being two and being in a bad mood because all two year olds are in a bad mood.”

She couldn’t help but to smile a little at the knowing way he spoke; no one could deny Auruo’s experience with children was more extensive than most. It came with the territory of being the eldest. “Maybe that’s what it really was.”

“No, I – fuck, I wish. Like if it was just him being a fussy baby I could handle that. But he’s looking right at me and getting upset, and – I remember this ‘cause Didier used to act the same way when we took him out, and one of Mom’s friends would get too friendly. He’d get all freaked out and scared because he didn’t like strangers. And it hit me – Francois doesn’t even know who I am. I mean, how would he? He’s too young to read my letters, and he’s only seen me twice before, and he probably doesn’t even remember the first time because he’d just been born. And it hit Mom at the same time, ‘cause she rushes over and tries to calm him down, but he’s building up for a real loud tantrum. And she sees that I’m making him upset or something, so she’s like telling him in that wavery voice ‘That’s Auruo! That’s your brother’ and – and Francois just says ‘no’. Over and over again.”

She could hardly bear to hear this, but worse was Auruo’s expression; she’d never seen him look so gutted, as if it’d cut the heart from him. “No …”

“And that’s what does it. She just starts crying really hard and everyone’s just completely fucking miserable. Dad gets up and tries to calm them both down and Benoit’s trying to round up the brats, and I’m just sitting there in front of this massive plate of food with my stomach in fucking knots, even though I haven’t really eaten anything but those walnuts all day. And I think about how if I don’t eat this food it’ll probably go to waste, and anyway not eating something my mom puts out is about the worst insult in her mind – it’d be like throwing it in her face, if I didn’t. So while everyone is freaking out I’m eating as much as I can and trying not to throw up.”

He covered his face with his hand. “It was like that for the rest of the night. I tried helping put the brats to sleep, but I could hear Mom crying in the other room and Dad trying to calm her down. Dad, who’s been doing that shit for people all day, on a day where he had to clean up fucking burned body parts. And I’m just thinking that I’m supposed to be a part of this family, and I’m supposed to make things easier for them – I’m supposed to do good for them. That’s why I decided to join the Survey Corps, right? So I could do something to – fuck, I don’t even know what I was thinking anymore. So I could do some good for them. But …” He shook his head, and his voice dropped to a shamed whisper. “I could join the Garrison and get stationed here, or I – I could join the Military Police and make so much money that they wouldn’t have to scrimp and save anymore. They might even be able to move to the Interior with me. And I just think that if I could forget the Titans were outside the Walls trying to get in, I  _could_ join the Military Police. I would, probably. I’d do that shit for them.”

Sympathetic tears blurred the sight of him, and she tried to blink them away. She’d had no idea; while she tossed and turned, he was half the city away, so utterly heart-sick and miserable that it had stripped him of every defense, left him bare under her trembling hands. Shame twisted her stomach. “Will you?”

He shook his head again. “No … I can’t. I told you. I could if there weren’t any Titans, but … I can’t. I just wish … fuck. I just wish I’d known that doing this meant that I’d – that I’d lose them.” He burrowed closer, eyes tightly shut. “’Cause it’s like I’ve lost them already. I was just gonna be home for one night, and I couldn’t even -- I ran over here the first chance I got, because just lying there with them all around me was … I just had this creeping realization that everything I did was making it worse for them, and then to really top everything off I couldn’t even stay and deal with the mess I’d made. And I’m just a – I’m a pile of shit ‘cause there’s this little voice in the back of my head saying ‘well who else am I gonna lose?’ Like that even matters … like it means anything, compared to what I’ve done. What I’ve put them through …”

There was something heartbreakingly naked in his voice, and she smoothed the hair back from his brow, fingers twining gently in his curls before slipping down to cup his face, so that she could meet his eyes. “You have me. Alright? You’ll always have me.”  She swallowed hard to master her trembling voice. “I know it’s not the same as your family, but –“

He looked at her as if he’d never seen her before, as if he’d been starving for decades and she held a loaf of bread out to him. “You don’t know anything,” he whispered.

She kissed his nose, the corner of his mouth, lightly as a sigh. “I know that you haven’t hurt them like you think you have, Auruo. They’re upset because you’re leaving, of course. Just like my father is upset that I’m leaving. And when we show them that we’re strong and skilled, and that we belong in the Survey Corps, it’ll be better. Every furlough will be better, because we’ll keep proving that we’ll always come back. You’ll see.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I believe it.”

He almost smiled. “There’s that faith thing again …”

If it had been possible, she’d have pressed that smile to corners of her memory, hard won. “Of course it’s my faith thing. Even though I'm scared, I choose to believe it’s going to be okay. We’re strong and – and you’re second in the class, for crying out loud. And I’m fifth, which isn’t too bad either.”

“It’s good,” he interjected softly, brushing her hair aside.

“Well, it’s no number two, that’s for sure,” she said with a shrug, trying to smile. “Anyway. We’re going to be okay. And our families are going to be okay. I really believe that, and I – I wish you could too. I know you’re a skeptic and that’s your thing, and you get so wrapped up in the negative that you can’t see a way out, but I wish you’d just –“

“I will,” he told her, cupping her face. “I mean, I’ll … I’ll try, anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll …” He let out a slow breath. “We’ll be okay. Our families will be okay. It’s all right.”

“That’s right,” she said, kissing him. “That’s right …” And finally, having said his piece and accepting hers, she felt him melt into her touch; now his lips were active against hers, and his hands were in her hair, and she felt a wild burst of feeling bloom in the center of her chest, rising like a curl of flame. 

It was a long time before he spoke again; the moon had begun its descent, slipping beneath the rooftops from beyond her window. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “For listening to me whine about this shit.”

She kissed the corner of his mouth, let it linger until his breath grew ragged. “I told you I’ll listen to anything you say.”

“Even the dumb shit? Even if I – oh, I don’t know. Even if I never shut up about how great I am or something?”

“I can’t really see you talking like that and meaning it.”

“You never know.” He flashed her his familiar, smug grin. “Stranger things have happened.”

“You haven’t even mentioned being second yet,” she reminded him. “Not like you were proud of it, anyway.”

He rubbed the back of his neck with a brief scowl. “’Cause it doesn’t seem like – I was sure the Commandant hated me. ‘Cause I told him to stop eating assholes the first day, remember? I was positive he’d kick me out or make a negative rank or something and give it just to me, to really put me in my place.”

“He’s a professional. He wouldn’t unfairly grade any trainee, no matter how he felt about them personally.”

“I guess you’re right,” he said with a little shrug. “It’s still weird, though. Like I wanted to be in the top and I am, and now that I am I don’t really know what to do with it, or what it says about me. That I’m skilled enough for it, I guess, but I knew I was skilled.”

“So modest.”

“What d’you want me to say? I know I’m pretty good. I’m pretty good at killing big stuff.” His expression faded from mild annoyance to the first hint of excitement she’d seen from him in so long. “Maybe we’ll be able to see Levi in action.”

“It’s possible. He is in the Survey Corps, after all.”

“D’you think he teaches people? I mean everyone knows he’s amazing … d’you think he teaches new recruits how to fight like him?”

“Maybe … it would be pretty amazing to learn what he knows.”

“Right? And it’d make sense too, since he’s survived so much. It’d be a good investment.”

She couldn’t help the fond smile. “You’ve thought a lot about it.”

“And you haven’t?!”

“Not as much as you, apparently.”

“I’m not gonna apologize for thinking he’s amazing, ‘cause he is. They don’t call him Humanity’s Strongest for nothing.”

“You’re right, you’re right. Don’t get upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

She kissed his nose, letting her lips linger against that beloved shape. “You’re cute.”

Predictably, he blushed to the roots of his hair. “Geez …”

And she felt such terrible affection for him at that moment; gazing into his bashful, slightly reticent face, his dark cheeks frosted silver by the moonlight streaming from the window. He fidgeted under her scrutiny; she saw him watching her mouth, eyes slightly unfocused. His fingers tightened on her waist, his thumb tracing circles that rumpled her nightgown.

 “I’m glad you came,” she whispered, wiggling closer until there was no space between them.

“Me too.”

“Would it be weird to say that I missed you?”

“You saw me just a few hours ago. And you see me every day.”

“I know that, of course. I’m just saying … I’ve missed being here with you. Like this.” She traced his hip, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

“Y-yeah ... I knew what you meant. I just wanted to hear you say it.”

She swatted his arm. “You’re terrible.”

Grinning, he tipped his head forward until his brow touched hers, tucking back a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “I keep thinking …”

“Mm?”

Tufts of curly hair brushed above her eyes when he shook his head. “I keep worrying about what it’ll be like when we join the Survey Corps.”

“You’re the one who told me not to worry, remember?”

“Yeah. I dunno; the closer it gets, the more I worry that we won’t – that I won’t be able to – to do this.” He cupped her face and kissed her intently, deepening the gesture until she was breathless in his arms. A slow, soft moan caught at the back of her throat, and she felt him between her legs, pressing against her thigh.

“Mm…”

“You can’t make noises like that,” he chastised her in a breathless whisper. “Fuck. Isn’t your dad in the other room?”

“I told you he’s a heavy sleeper.” She squirmed a little against him, grinning when he groaned. “And I’ve decided you don’t have to worry about what it’ll be like when we’re in the Survey Corps.”

“I don’t, huh …”

“Nope. I’ll come see you every night. I’ll sneak into your room and climb on top of you and wake you up with kisses.”

He caught the hem of her nightgown, rolling it between his fingers. “I bet my roommates’ll love that.”

“I already worked it out. I asked one of the instructors about it, actually.”

“You – you told an instructor about us --?!”

“No, you dope. Honestly. I just asked if he knew what the rooming situation would be like in the Survey Corps. Would we sleep in barracks like we do here? He said the Garrison is the only branch where they have to sleep in huge barracks, because there’s so many soldiers in each Garrison. But the Survey Corps is relatively smaller, so usually they room in doubles or quads, based on who joins with you. You’ll probably end up rooming with Axel or Martin. I’ll probably end up rooming with a stranger, which is why I’d come to your room. Something along those lines.”

“Are you serious …”

“Of course.”

“And you’re not fussed about breaking the rules.”

“Weren’t you the one who told me that there’s probably people all over the Survey Corps that are intimate with each other? ‘Rutting’ was the word you used, if I recall.”

“I stand by it,” he insisted. “I just think they probably try to be a little less obvious about it, is all. Fuckin’ in their rooms is so stupid, that’s like asking to be caught. I bet they find closets and shit. Places to hide.”

“Well, then I’d drag you off to whatever closet was nearby and have my way with you there. Assuming you were willing, of course.”

He spluttered, his blush achieving a new intensity. She felt him shift again, his hardness catching between her thighs. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Just making sure,” she said with a little smile. “I wanted to hear you say it.”

“You – you fuckin’ –“

“Shh …” she said, and pressed her lips to his indignant mouth; he could only resist for a moment before he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, deepening the kiss she offered. And as they kissed a quick burst of feeling pooled in her belly when his shaking hands slipped under the hem of her nightshirt and slid up her thigh to cup her rear, pressing himself closer. She was still growing accustomed to the taste and feel of his mutual need, and marveling that it was even possible in a world where people died and the Titans lived. Perhaps it was reckless and wrong to take comfort in this way, but she needed him. She loved him. 

“Why are you so excited?” she teased in a shaking whisper.

“Is this a serious question, or do you just want to hear me say it again?”

“Don’t be a jerk.”

He skimmed his palm over the curve of her bare hip, ducking his head so that she wouldn’t see his blush. And it was so familiar; she could remember him doing the same thing almost every day of their lives, yet it took a different meaning here, with no one else to watch. “I need you.”

Her breath caught. She had never heard him say anything with such naked honesty; it positively radiated from his unsteady voice, mirrored in his hands and lips. He needed her and she needed him, and there was nothing else in the world. “You can have me,” she breathed, trembling against him. “I’m yours, okay?”

He kissed her neck, her jaw, the corner of her mouth, the tip of her nose. He kissed her wherever he could reach, and each one was a promise, a tender accord eked between hot palms and seeking lips. “I’m  _yours,”_ he whispered between kisses, again and again, until she was dizzy from it. “ _I’m yours.”_

~

He rolled on top of her and buried his hands in her bright hair, shivering when her knees pressed at his hips, holding him fast. It wasn’t real; it was nothing like the life he knew, the life he’d come from just hours ago. There was only Petra in this place, and he wanted to stay here.

At first he thought she’d only want to kiss, and he was fine with that; if given the choice he would choose to kiss her every minute of every day.  There was something almost like art in the way her lips tasted, the exact shape of them, and the shapes they made as they met his. He was consumed in the best, most pathetic way; kissing her, he began to understand Martin’s need to translate these abstractions to music.

When she reached for the buckle of his pants, he felt a thrill of anticipation alight down his spine. “Are you --?” he whispered.

“I’m sorry. I just –“

“No, it’s alright. It’s …” It was more than alright; he positively strained to bury himself in her, but he was anxious too. He remembered Wil’s tirade and how she’d been hurt, and the last thing he wanted was to do that to Petra. “Are you – do you …?”

She swallowed, nodding. “Yes … unless you --?”

“No, I – I do. Ha … fuck. I …” He groaned when her fingers slipped inside his pants, easing them off his hips. “Fuck, Petra …”

He caught a flash of her insouciant, troublemaker’s grin – the one she denied having. “That’s the idea.”

“You --!”  He buried his face against her neck and kissed her there until she squirmed, a squeal building beyond her ability to swallow. “You’re something else …”

“I –  _ah …”_ She arched against him, but even dizzy from the feel of his lips on her neck, she was impossible to deter; before he could say another word she gripped the length of him, stroking long and slow until he gasped. She would finish him off here, given the chance, and he was weak; after wanting it for so long, it would have been so easy to let her.

“W-wait,” he managed, pulling back until he sprang free from her hands. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You keep grabbing me and distracting me, and I can’t fuckin’ – I can’t say what I –“

She skimmed his shoulders, cupped his face. “Say what?” 

He studied her; her bright hair mused like a crown of burnished sunlight, her nightshirt rucked to her waist, lips swollen and parted. He saw her as he’d seen her from the very beginning; impossible and inexplicable, her regard a gift he’d had no right to expect. He loved her, and that she allowed this humbled him. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered. “I mean – ‘cause Wil was talking, and she said –“

Her gaze became tender. “Auruo …”

“I … why d’you think I haven’t brought this up before?! Not ‘cause I’m not thinking about it, ‘cause I  _am –_ more than I – I mean, more than you probably ---“ He closed his eyes and tried again. “But I just don’t want to – I mean, she talked about blood and I just don’t – I really –“

“Shh,” she said. “You won’t hurt me.” 

“You don’t know that!”

“She told me exactly what happened, okay? She had problems with Axel that I don’t have with you, so it’s not going to happen.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Do you want me to be specific?” she asked, her expression shrewd. “Are you sure you want to know these things about her?”

He blanched. “N-no. Probably not. I just –“

Skimming his cheek with her thumb, she craned up and kissed him, and he thought he would drown in the feeling. He would never tire of it. “You won’t hurt me.”

“Petra …”

~

They undressed each other, fumbling with inexperience. It was the most she’d ever seen of his naked body, and the most he’d ever seen of hers; unlike their uniform closet, pale moonlight poured in through the high window, illuminating the room. Here, she could discern details she had always dreamed of committing to memory: the callused bruises across his chest and hips, crossing over his lean thighs; a constellation of moles scattered across his back, just like the one at the base of his neck that had fascinated her for years; the way his muscles moved under skin, banding and taut.

And he looked at her with the same hungry reverence; committing her in the same way. He looked with his hands; cupping her breasts, tracing over her stomach and waist, her hips. His mouth followed where his hands had first claimed; he kissed a hot trail from the hollow at her throat to the inside of her thighs.

“Auruo –“

He peeked up from between her legs, brows lifted. “D’you want me to stop?”

She squirmed under his flat palms, hovering just above her hip bones. “You don’t have to waste your time.”

“It’s not a waste of time,” he argued. “I like making you feel good. I wanna try it this way.”

She huffed, slightly annoyed. She was aching and desperate, and he insisted on dragging things out. It figured, really. “You’re so stubborn.”

“Are you seriously getting upset about this? Would you rather I be one of those guys that jackhammer away for ten seconds before they bust their nut?”

“What would you know about that?”

His expression was sweetly incredulous; made all the more funny by the fact that he was currently perched between her parted legs. “Every single fuckin’ person in our training class talked about shit like that. And the neighbor kids before we left. Pretty much everyone’s got an opinion on it.”

“And your opinion?”

He kissed the inside of her thigh. “I wanna make you come first.”

“But why does it matter so much to you?”

“’Cause I – I kinda like you! I know, right? What the hell am I thinking? I like you and I like making you feel good. Goddamnit, what’s the problem?”

“ _Shh_!”

“You  _shh_!”

She bit her lip. “You like me?”

“Are you serious? Yeah, dummy. I like you.”

“How much?”

The angle of his face might have concealed his blush, if not for the unfortunate fact that it spread all the way to his ears. “Fuck, nag. I like you a lot.”

“Why do you like me?”

“Are we really doing this right now?”

“Yes. Why do you like me?”

“Because you’re funny and smart and – and kind, and you drive me fuckin’ crazy in the best way, and even when it’s not the best way I still wanna be around you. You have pretty hair and a pretty smile. You have a pretty everything, honestly. You smell good. You make me feel better when I feel like shit. You care about everything and everyone, and you work hard, and you …” He kissed her knee, running his palm up the ridge of her shin. “I dunno. I like you.”

At the weight in such a simple word, she almost thought that meant  _I love you._ She would have told him anyway and used anything but simple words, but craned forward and swept his tongue between her folds, a rough sound rumbling in his chest, and for a long time she couldn’t say anything.

~

At first, he was terrible at it. Disinclined toward patience, he felt himself becoming frustrated when she squirmed away from the path of his tongue, wincing when he was too insistent or rough. He’d heard enough on the subject that he thought it’d be a simple matter, more so because he’d already managed this feat with his hands, and wasn’t that more of a challenge?

But slowly he acclimated to her, learned her all over again – how she would sigh when the stroke was good, the way her thighs tightened on his shoulders when it felt right. This time it took longer but he taught himself to be patient, to draw it out as she needed.

And he loved the taste of her, that impossible softness flat against his tongue. He loved that the slightest variation in stroke gave her a completely different sensation – slow build to intense pleasure, and the spectrum between these places. He loved that slowly she began to move with him; her hips rolling in time with his laving tongue, her lips parted in a caught moan.

And finally she plunged one hand in his hair and pressed the other to her mouth to stifle herself, but could not contain a half-swallowed whimper that filled the silence as she came. It was nothing like he’d ever known, not a brief, mind-blowing flash; it rose again and again, building to impossible height before she finally sprawled back, her chest heaving.

He was hopelessly breathless, and his jaw was sore by the end, but it was with a certain sense of satisfaction that he drew away from between her legs, palming his mouth. When he stretched above her, she slipped her arms around his waist and pressed him close. “Can’t believe you wanted me to skip that part,” he said with a shaky laugh.

“Only because I want you,” she told him, a flush coloring her cheeks, nearly obscuring the freckles he loved.

His heart thundered desperately against his ribs, and each pulse echoed in his ears, loud as a gunshot. He could barely swallow around his thick, stupid tongue; he shuddered at the contrast between the cool air on his back and the heat between her legs, beckoning. There was no reason to be nervous, he chastised himself; he wasn’t fighting a Titan on the field, and he wasn’t being graded. He was with Petra, alone for what felt like the first time in their lives. There was no reason to be afraid.

She noticed his panic, of course; with unbearable tenderness, she framed his face between her hands, traced his eyebrows with shaking fingers, and looked at him as if he was worth the trouble, as if he wasn’t a ridiculous fool for hesitating on the brink of consummating the way he felt about her. Crusades began on lesser regard. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” he said quickly. “Ha … I’m just –“

“You’re shaking …”

He attempted a cavalier shrug. “It’s cold in your room.”

She was quiet for a few heartbeats, brushing aside his hair before clasping her hands around his neck. She touched him in the same hungry, impatient way that he felt coiling in his limbs, as if there was too much to learn and not enough time. “Are you nervous?”

Earlier, in the room that was no longer his, he’d come to terms with his own cowardice – he could only offer Benoit honesty and nothing more. Now, it seemed like telling the truth would be akin to summiting an impossible peak, yet he swallowed again and summoned his nerve. “Y-yeah.”

“Me too,” she admitted without his reticence, and he realized once again that she was a thousand times braver and more worthwhile than he would ever be. A small smile curved her lips. “I’m afraid you won’t fit.”

It took him a moment to realize what she was talking about. He glanced down between them, then back at her; slightly pleased but mostly incredulous. “Petra, geez. It’s not that big.”

“But you’re a lot taller than I am.” She shrugged slightly, her shoulders brushing his forearms. “I’m pretty small.”

"We -- we don't have to --" 

Finally, he understood the glint in her eyes, matched by her smile. "I'm teasing. Honestly." She traced tiny circles on the back of his neck, and he shivered under her fingers. “You won’t hurt me.” It was just as much an assurance for him as it was for herself.

Overwhelmed, he touched his brow to hers, so closely that he could have tasted her heartbeat in the space between them, and it seemed to mingle with his own. “Tell me if I do, alright?” he asked her, suddenly breathless. “I – I mean it, if it – if you – if it’s not alright, just –“

“I will,” she assured him. Kissing his cheek, his eyelid, his chin. “I will, I promise.”

~

His answer was to kiss her fiercely, tangling his fingers in her loose hair. Even assured, they made no move to begin; he kissed her until she was breathless from his attention, and from the thrilling reality of this moment: his taut weight above her, the muscles of his stomach catching pale light and shadow as they tensed. Wedged between her thighs, his hips rolled against her slowly, testing the motion and his control. And she moved with him, smiling against his open mouth.

It occurred to her that he was waiting for her to begin, and this realization was one of many similar; he never tried to take from her, or push where he might not be welcome. Even now, as he shivered above her with desire, he wanted her to set the terms. And she loved this; she loved him, more than words could even hold. 

Carefully, she took him in one hand, laughing softly when he twitched at her touch, and guided him in. Even at the threshold he waited, mastering himself, before he slid in – slow, then shuddering to the quick as his restraint failed. And she  _felt_ him; god – every slow inch. She felt his hips shudder, and watched as his eyes clench shut, lips parting with the moan he swallowed.

“H-holy fuck,” he gasped, his head dipping to her chest. “ _F-fuck_. Are you --? Is this – god, Petra … are you –?”

“ _Yes,”_ she sighed, shifting ever so slightly, and this time he could not keep from moaning, the sound muffled against her breasts. His hands were everywhere; her hair, her cheeks, one slipped between them to cup her ass and bring her closer, bury himself deeper. And she might have closed her eyes as the sensation registered and a shudder ascended from the pit of her stomach to settle in her chest, but she couldn’t look away.

~

It was exquisite; each trembling stroke built until he forgot the world outside of her room. He kept his pace deliberate -- a slow stroke, then pause, and another  -- even though at times he shuddered from the impossible effort; every instinct in him screamed to let go, to race to the finish. So instead he consumed himself with details; her breasts bouncing slightly as they moved, her thighs pressing his hips closer, her face. Always gaging her response.

“Are you  _– oh,_   _f-fuck_. Are you okay?” he gasped when he could speak.

She nodded and cupped his face, his burning cheeks. “You feel good …”

And that was exquisite too.

~

It was no lie; he  _did_ feel good, in a way she had not expected. She was familiar with the pleasure from his fingers and mouth, but this was different; deeper, a slow fullness. It was the beautiful presence of the moment coupled with what it stood for, what it meant; here, her trust in him, and how amply it was rewarded. He was a part of her, and it was so lovely.

He leaned forward and took her hands; their fingers tangled as each thrust crested like a wave, slow, then stop,  bearing them along together. And it was better every time; that sweet ache of desire tensing between her legs, welcoming him deeply, beckoning. She wanted more; all of it, the breadth of this experience, she would drink every last drop. She thrived on every little sound he made, each gasp and groan, and the nearly inaudible whimper as his inexperienced control failed.

They locked eyes, and watched each other greedily, like starving people, like those consumed by an echoing, ancient thirst. 

~

Too soon -- hardly any time at all, hardly anything -- he felt that telltale shiver spread from groin to gut, too soon, too fast; his pace faltered, hips jerking clumsily into her, and he grit his teeth against that moment of no return. But she was too soft, too good; she felt too good, and he was overcome.

“I’m –  _I’m gonna_  -- _fuck –“_

“Yes,” she breathed.  _“Yes.”_  

He slipped out and gripped his cock, slick with her wetness. And when he came, she was there – hips rolling against his jerking fist, swallowing his moan with a hard kiss. She was everywhere.

~

After, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and gasped for breath, each tinged with the scent of her skin, bathed in sweat, her hair. His heart cavorted madly, beating like a drum. “Fuck,” he whispered, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “Are you –was that --?“

Her hand skimmed up his back, trembling; her cheeks crinkled under the weight of an impossible smile, one he’d never seen before. He’d seen her laughing delightedly, balanced on a fencepost with carnival grace; he’d seen her soar through a dark forest faster than birds could fly, but the sight of her now – sprawled beneath him, her amber eyes bright with something he almost thought he knew – summoned a sweet ache in his chest, where it would remain. He could never again look at her without remembering this moment.  “ _Yes …”_ she breathed, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth. “God…”  

“Actually,” he said, grinning like the fool he was. “It’s Auruo.”

She swatted him, giggling. “You’re terrible.”

He almost told her then; limbs tangled, breathing hard in gorgeous unison, naked in every way a person can be. He almost told her everything, cracked open his chest and laid out its contents for her inspection, come what may. He should have; god, if he’d been worth anything, he would have. He felt the words burgeoning at the back of his throat, dancing on his tongue – ready to make their escape and be known. The kind of truth perfect for a moment like this; made to fill the close silence of two people who were not yet soldiers, not yet claimed by anything but each other. It would have been the most natural progression, and the ultimate act of bravery for a person as uncomfortable with the reality of his emotional landscape as Auruo.

Later he would look back and curse that he hadn’t; if he hadn’t looked down at her in that perfect moonlit moment and felt the old coward fear grip his heart, the fear of losing what he couldn’t bear to lose, it would have been everything she deserved. He would have proved himself worthy of her at the beginning of this foolish dance, and not the end. As it was, hounded by everything that had come before, he swallowed the truth with a shaky laugh and buried his face again, and hid himself from her.

 


	26. Chapter 26

Auruo lay on his back and watched moonlight cast long shadows on the ceiling, his arm splayed over empty space at his side. Even absent, Petra was all over this bed, the smell of her hair and skin laden in the sheets, still rumpled from sex. She’d left only for a moment, but he felt odd and naked without her – stripped of his pretenses, anxious for the possibility of Mr. Ral catching them entwined.

It didn’t seem real.

By now he had gathered the measure of the world and taught himself not to hope for wonders. There was little point when each week presented a new challenge: layoffs at the mill; garnished wages; the lean, cold months of winter when food was scarce and the poor of his neighborhood huddled together, the better to ward away chill that cut to your bones. He’d grown up in a place where children died in their beds, people died in the mills, and through it all they kept their spirits, otherwise they ran the risk of being crushed by despair.  When one fell that far, the only choice then was to numb it with a bottle. Auruo knew the world; better than most. It was a cruel place.

It was impossible, then, that someone as lovely as Petra could exist within, that she could care for him, that she would take his hand and squeeze his nervous fingers, that she would kiss him everywhere a person could be kissed, and do it as if she were the lucky one.

He strained to hear any sign of her in the next room, but she was quiet as she went about her business, impossibly so; when she crept back into her room, he startled at the sight of her in the doorway, even though he’d been waiting. In the pale light, her hair nearly shone; a frosted copper waterfall, streaming down her back. She smiled when she looked at him.

“Did I scare you?” she whispered as she clambered back into bed, slipping her arms around his waist.

“Nah.”

“You jumped.”

“Not ‘cause I was scared,” he said as she nestled her head against his shoulder, her soft hair tickling his chin. “You try not jumping when you see some weird shadow in the dark.”

“I wouldn’t. I have nerves of steel.”

“You screamed bloody murder when Wil jumped out at you last fall. Remember? That weird hazy morning, when everything was kinda red. She was waiting for you because you were talking like this shit, like you never get scared, and she was determined to get you. ”

“That never happened.”

“You’re so full of shit, Petra.”

“I am not!”

“Mhm” His hand slid over the curve of her hip to pinch, but what started as mischief became full, slavish appreciation; his fingers traced the smooth skin there, toying with the edge of her nightshirt.  A foolish grin spread across his features, lit him from within; had his friends and family seen such an expression on his face, they wouldn’t have known him for Auruo. He felt like a bright stranger, buzzing and eager, yet this happiness was more comfortable to him than anything he’d felt before, as if this was his true self, and not the one that walked in daylight, alone.

He almost said it, then. Only this time he didn’t have the excuse of being inside her.

A comfortable silence passed between them, but before long he noticed that she’d grown tense, and reflexively he withdrew his hand from its wandering, peering down at her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh? Nothing. I just …” She heaved a long sigh, and he felt her ribs expand under his seeking fingers. “It’s almost morning.”

He peered over the top over her head out the window, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He remembered his family and the recruitment ceremony, and the fact that this may be the last time in a long while that they could be alone together, and his shoulders dropped, as if the strength of his earlier mood had been the only thing keeping them steady.

“Oh, don’t look like that,” she chastised gently. “Like you’ll never see me again.”

“You’re the one who was moping. I just asked what was wrong.”

“And then it started bothering you.”

“Geez. Why d’you care so much if it bothers me?”

“Because you looked so happy just a minute ago.” She craned up to kiss his lips, slipping one hand in his mused hair. “You don’t have to go right away. I’m just – I’m just being stupid.”

“Nah. Not that bad.”

“I am! I’ll be seeing you every day,” she insisted softly, tracing his eyebrow with her thumb. “Maybe not like this. But at least I’ll be able to see you.” With a little sigh, she tipped her brow forward to rest against his cheek. “I’ll have your back, just like I said.”

It didn’t surprise him that on the eve of their recruitment to the Survey Corps she would remember the promise they’d made all those years ago, on the day they’d met. He thought it should seem like many centuries had passed, and perhaps in some way it did, but mostly he was struck by the fact that he could remember all of it as clearly as if it had happened only yesterday. Her fire-caught braid spilling over her shoulder. That smattering of freckles dancing over her nose. Her smile, which had been so foreign and familiar.

Because it was a tradition, he shot her his own shit-eating grin and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s gonna be me looking out for you, I bet.”

Her reply was uncharacteristic, tempered with distance he didn’t understand: “We’ll see.”

As much as he wanted to argue, she was right. Barest traces of light teased the horizon above the tops of houses, changing the cloudless sky from deepest black to the green of a fading bruise. And he knew he would see her in only a few hours, and they would embark together as Survey Corps soldiers, but on the precipice of their dearest ambitions he felt himself hesitate. He didn’t want to leave this place.

It occurred to him that life was going to be a lot of leaving places he didn’t want to leave.

He was still unaccustomed to the freedom of touch, so when he slid his hands from her hip to the small of her back, he felt them tremble – roused by the heat of her skin. Carefully, as one would ascend the steps of a ladder, he pressed his thumb over each notch in her back, solid unbroken bone gloved by the smoothest skin.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, shivering in his arms.

He didn’t know what to say. Someone else might have had some cool, romantic explanation for this foolishness; he could only shrug, embarrassed by the attention she’d called to his gesture. “I’ll stop.”

“That’s not it! I just wanted to know.” He caught a flash of her grin, bright with teasing warmth. “You mostly hear about guys wanting to touch the obvious parts.” She wiggled for emphasis, and her breasts brushed his chest.

He swallowed, tracing a circle around one notch in the middle of her back before resuming his upward path. “I guess I like more than just the obvious parts.”

And that carried the weight of truth. He was committing her to memory. He was assembling her in his mind, down to the smallest physical detail, so that even separated it would never leave him. He said no more, but she seemed to understand him regardless, for her hand slipped from his hair to cup the back of his neck, her fingers chasing a chill over that tender skin.

“I do too,” she whispered, and leaned up to press her lips under his eye. “I like this right here; your cheekbones.”

He scuffed it awkwardly. “It’s the same as anyone’s.” Uglier, probably. He wouldn’t say so, but he thought it.

“Not even close. They’re just like everything else about you.”

“What?!”

“You’re all hard angles. You have the boniest elbows and knees I’ve ever seen on a person.” She pinched one for emphasis.

“I’m pretty sure _you_ do,” he argued, feeling somewhat wrong-footed; he’d had some grand romantic gesture in mind, and she took it as an opportunity to tease him. “I got a hole in my ribs from all the times you’ve jabbed me with your fuckin’ bony elbows, you know that?”

“You’re so dramatic,” she said gently, and before he could retort she kissed him again. At first her lips were soft but when he hitched her closer she made a small sound in the back of her throat and clutched the front of his rumpled shirt. He committed this to memory too, each small reality that comprised a kiss: her lips, the taste of her skin, the feel of her pressed eagerly against him.

Before long, though, she let her head tip forward to rest against his shoulder, twining her fingers in the wayward hair curling at the nape of his neck. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought she might be trembling. “I think you better go.”

“Yeah.”

“My father will be awake soon, if he isn’t already.”

“Yeah …”

He made no move to leave, and she made no move to relinquish her hold on him. “And – and your brothers.”

A dull pang filled his chest as he thought of their sprawled forms and sleepy faces, blinking as dawn light filled the room only to find that he wasn’t there. Regretfully, he disentangled himself from her arms and slung his legs over the side of the bed. “Better get going then.”

“Yes, you better.”

He dressed grudgingly as she smoothed his preposterous hair, which seemed to take a life of its own in the last few hours. If it wasn’t so obvious he’d have caught her hands and asked she leave it; for once he couldn’t find it in himself to mind, not with the memory of how he’d acquired such ridiculous musing. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” she reminded him as he perched on the windowsill. “I was going to work with my father today but …” She bit her lip. “I don’t know if he’ll want me around.”

“Why wouldn’t he?! It’s your last day home for awhile.”

She shrugged unhappily. “I think it’ll make him too sad. If he’s trying not to be sad in front of customers, it’ll affect business.”

Auruo had never really come to terms with the casual middle-class concerns of Petra and her father; it seemed ludicrous to him that Mr. Ral would waste any time with his daughter, as if the apprehensions of his customers were more important. It made sense logically, he supposed – this was his livelihood, the sole source of his income and support – but that didn’t mean he had to like it or make allowances.

Of course, Petra noticed his mutinous expression. “That’s just how he deals with things like this,” she said, her voice soft. “When my mom died, he – he tried to pretend nothing was wrong.”

“That’s pathetic.”

She shrugged helplessly. “Please, Auruo. Not everyone handles it right.”

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry.”

After a moment, she took his hand and pressed her lips to the center of his palm, just as he’d done half a year ago, that storm tossed day. He hadn’t known that it would become so significant between them; a gesture heavy with all the things they knew and felt, yet couldn’t say. “I’ll see you tonight.”

And he knew: she was going to spend the day with Wil. It made sense, and he didn’t fault her for it. He would have asked to come along if he felt like there’d be a place for him, but there wasn’t. He knew enough about their relationship to know that sometimes there was only enough space in the conversation for the two of them. Wil had asked that first day if it had made him jealous, and at the moment it had. He understood better now.

It wouldn’t be like this, where they were free to kiss and touch without blunting their hunger for one another, but it was better than nothing. Better than goodbye. They would be together, at each other’s backs instead of face to face, oblivious to the world around them. That was the reality of their choice.  

“Tonight,” he echoed, and slipped off the windowsill.

~

Had they known to savor, would they have? Could they? He wondered about it later; if his hesitation unhitched the world, intensified its steady rotation, so everything passed before his gaze in a helpless blur. He might have held on, wrenched his eyes wide, so that his last day as a member of the world would linger undiluted in his mind. If only, if only.

~

Her father’s goodbye was a thousand times worse than she expected. Part of her hoped that it’d be as easy as the night before had been;  he’d pretended that nothing was wrong, that it was just another night and in the morning they’d both wake and prepare for another day of business. They’d come home after sundown, make dinner and play cards together, just like they always did.

In the light of morning, however, he was unable to continue the act. She heard him thumping around upstairs at least an hour earlier than usual, and she quickly dressed to meet him. When he slumped down the stairs to breakfast, she saw that his eyes were red, rimmed by dark circles, and his hands shook upon the banister. If he hadn’t slept he might have heard Auruo climbing in through her window, or their whispering, or … she swallowed hard, strung between a hard twist of anxiety and guilt, and sorrow that increased the longer she studied him. But he gave no sign that he knew what she and Auruo had done; when he looked at her, it was bare with grief.

“Morning, Dad,” she said as she smoothed her hands on her apron. “I – I was just going to make some –“

“Don’t worry about that,” he said in a brittle voice. “Just … come sit with me for a bit.”

Despite the sinking feeling in her stomach, she obeyed. It was monstrous to suspect that he would lecture her again, that he would insult her motivation and beg her to abandon her goal. But that was the nature of arguments and hurt; they came back to her at the most inappropriate times, whether she wanted them to or not.

He reached across the table for her hand, taking it as if it were made of glass. They sat in silence for a long while. It occurred to her that moment, in their familiar, sunlit kitchen, that this was the last time she would see him for a very long time, if she was lucky. 

And not only her father, but Wil. This was the last time she’d see her mercurial, heartsore friend, who spoke loudly because she was afraid of disappearing, who grinned and doled out good deeds like a farce, though she wanted nothing more than to be good.

Tears pricked at her eyes. _What was she doing?_

“I just want you to know that I love you very much,” he said, and his voice shook. “I know you’re determined to join the Survey Corps, and I think –“

She shook her head once, a gesture as small as she felt. “Please don’t.”

He fell silent and squeezed her hand, and as the silence grew, something sick and small curled in her stomach. No longer did it resemble her earlier passion, the fearless insistence that her life and dedication would serve a noble purpose; now she asked him not to speak his mind because she was afraid. There was a tumbling, snarled mass of it churning away in the pit of her gut, and she could no more puzzle out its ends than she could cut it out entirely.

It was his face. It should have been beloved and familiar, but in the years she’d been away at training he’d aged, and the changes were not subtle. She had an image of her father from when they came to Karanese in her head, but this man bore almost no resemblance to that smiling, laughing man. His brows sagged. His eyes were tired.  This stranger holding her hand looked as if he’d never smiled in his life.

How much would he change when she left?  How badly would each day not knowing if she was alive or dead eat away at him? Would it ruin the dear, beloved characteristics of his that had somehow escaped this terrible aging?

She desperately wanted him to offer the same encouragement he had when she was a child; when she’d been an intrepid explorer with torn skirts and skinned knees. She wanted him to take her shoulders as he had then and tell her ‘It’s out there! Go find it!’ She wanted to hear that he believed, that he was still an equal hand in her faith, that he’d support her now that it had left her. Instead, he took her hand and let it leave.

She lowered her head, biting savagely at her lip, so he wouldn’t see that she was about to cry.  She wanted to; she wasn’t in the habit of denying herself the comfort of tears when she needed it. But today, on the day she would leave home as not a cadet but a soldier, she buried them.

~

Auruo slept the entire morning. He drifted in and out of consciousness, only partially aware of his family and the familiar sounds of his home. So familiar that it could almost have been a similar morning from many years ago, when his dedication was a small thing, hardly-defined; a seed in the soil of his mind. A memory, a dream. 

_“Wake him up!”_

“ _Don’t.”_ Sternly whispered; an adult’s voice in the body of a boy.

“ _C’mon Benoit!”_

 _“Don’t.”_  Slight scuffling, worn shoes on worn floors. “ _I mean it.”_

This was part of his dream. Benoit was still a boy, and he’d grow up doing whatever he wanted instead of what he felt was required. That was the whole point of this, wasn’t it? His brothers would be healthy, well-fed for once in their lives. They’d grow up to be even taller than he was; not weedy from a lacking life. From scrounging.

That was the whole fucking point.

He dreamed; he felt the morning sun on his face, untouched by the shadow of the Walls. There was room enough for everyone; food for the poor and hungry. There was a wide open world that belonged to them, where you didn’t have to fear a long grip and rictus grin as it tore you to pieces. There was a place for them, for everyone. That was the whole point.

_“Let me wake him.”_

_“Please don’t.”_

_“Don’t you – d_ _on’t you want to say goodbye?”_

A long silence. _“I can’t.”_

He dreamed of his parents. His mother smiling, free to cook as much as she wanted – free to experiment, to make mistakes.  His saw his father without burns on his forearms, without a tired curve in his back. His father, able to breathe without choking on decades of dust and steel. Able to breathe at last.

He saw his friends and what they wanted: a purpose for Axel, peace for Oskar. Courage for Martin. Goodness for Wil. There was no use for soldiers in this dream, so they cultivated passions that had nothing to do with war. 

And as always, he saw Petra – the way she was and the way she wanted to be. He remembered her reasons and they burned like a beacon in his heart; _I want to be free, Auruo,_ she had said, trembling with fervor. _I want everyone to be free._ And his own burning beacon; _I want my family to be safe._ He saw the two of them spread out beneath their tree, its steady branches forever beyond their reach. It was outside the Wall now, a piece of claimed landscape, a fading dream. But someday it would be theirs again. And he saw it as if this was no dream, but an eventuality; open horizon stretching farther than the eye could see, wingbeats against the endless sky. There were no Walls in this place.

It was after noon when he finally woke; he could tell by the slatted sunlight across his bedroom floor, gentle warmth across his bare shins. He pushed himself upright and noticed Benoit perched on the corner of the bed, his keen eyes roving quickly over the pages of a well-worn book. He looked up when he felt Auruo stir.

Auruo rubbed his eyes. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Benoit was quiet for a long time, and there was an odd weight in the silence, as if he knew something Auruo could not yet see. “We wanted you to rest,” he said finally. He left the rest unspoken.

~

Petra didn’t stay after her father departed for work; instead, she slung her few belongings over her shoulder and made her way to the barracks. There was a whole day stretched out in front of them before she gave her life to the Survey Corps, and she was going to spend it with Wil.

She clearly saw everywhere they’d go, and everything she’d say: she readied herself for Wil’s own sorrows, which were likely to be shrouded in some kind of joke if she bothered to speak them at all. She would tell Wil about her father, and last night with Auruo. That brought a bittersweet smile to her face. She saw Wil’s reaction to the news so clearly that it was as if she was there: she would take her shoulders and give her a little shake. _“About time,”_ she would say in a sultry whisper, wearing her familiar jackal’s grin.  “ _He any good?”_

And Petra would smile mysteriously and tell her only a portion of the truth, because the rest was for them. She would tell Wil that it had been amazing, better than anything she could have imagined. That she was a little sore today, and she felt a little odd, but it was a satisfying oddness, one she hoped Wil would know, one she’d frame with some smart comment and a sly grin. That all she had to do was close her eyes to see Auruo taut above her; that remembering the way he’d held her and kissed her and _needed_ her brought an eager flush to her face. It had been so lovely.

It would be nice to think of normal things, easy concerns. It would be a relief to giggle about something as normal as intimacy on a day when nothing could possibly be normal – not on the end of goodbyes, and the start of something so important. She thought of this hypothetical conversation wistfully, as both an object of anticipation and something she would mourn later, when they’d parted for good.

But when she arrived at the barracks, Wil was gone.

“She left pretty early this morning,” said Johanna as she busted her bedroll, tucking her dark hair behind her ear. “Said she’d be back in time for the ceremony.”

For a moment, Petra thought that it was a joke; she smiled in a cajoling manner, as if to call an end to it. “Are you sure?”

“As sure as I am with anything about Wil.”

Petra swallowed. “Did she say where she was going?”

Johanna shook her head. “I asked, too. She called me nosy and left.”

That was an expected answer; to the rest of their class, her mercurial friend was something of a mystery. And as Petra stood there, alone and lost, with her heart bursting and sick at the same time, a dull sort of realization came over her. Of course Wil was gone. Of course she wouldn’t be able to face their last day together. She’d rather pretend it didn’t exist at all.

~                            

In search of something to silence his whirling thoughts, Auruo resumed his duties as eldest, his mother’s first defense against the chaos of his home. He swept, he cleaned; he helped her prepare lunch, chopping stewed potatoes in tiny pieces so Francois would be able to manage them. He noted his father’s absence and gently pried a bowl out of her shaking hands, setting it aside before she could drop it.

Each task was automatic, which surprised him; he thought being away for so long would have wiped these gentle things from his mind. There shouldn’t have been room in his head for Didier’s favorite song, or Christophe’s tirades; for the wobbly chair he’d jam his folded sock under to keep it from pitching about, or the tricky pump outside, and how he’d have to work the handle in a specific pattern before it would sputter rust colored water all over the cobblestones. Yet there was, somehow; even after three years of tireless, brutal education, he could still remember how to be a part of this home.

But it wasn’t long before those picky thoughts began to intrude, even on his preferred method of keeping them down; mindless, meditative chores. He would remember Petra. Some unconnected memory of last night would return to him, some single, visceral detail – how it had felt, how she had looked splayed beneath him, and his stomach would swoop, curling in tender knots. He would no sooner set these thoughts aside when the memory of this coming night would return; a torch-lit ceremony, vows spoken. The long trek to his new home at the Survey Corps headquarters.  He would remember that this was goodbye to his family, goodbye to his home – for months, if he was lucky. Forever, if he was not.

The extremes made him sick. He wasn’t equipped for this kind of emotional range; he could hardly deal with solitary feelings, all of which ran too deep for him to process or articulate. It wasn’t sporting that now he should have to contend with an unruly multitude. The struggle made him vague and distant; he carried out each task and picked at his lunch, but his mind was elsewhere.

“I’m gonna do the most,” Christophe was saying, nearly knocking over his glass as his arm swept out, a wild, untamed gesture. “I’ll be the loudest.”

“You’re the loudest anyway,” Benoit offered mildly, taking a bite of stew.

“How ‘bout you shut up, huh?”

“Christophe,” his mother admonished.

“What?! He gets to be a jerk to me, but I can’t say anything back?”

“You _are_ the loudest,” Auruo offered with a distant grin. “You can’t get mad at him for stating facts.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Side with Benoit, just like you always do.”

“I side with facts. Start talking sense and we’ll see how it goes.” He craned closer. “What’s your problem today?”

“Nothing,” Christophe muttered, and he took a petulant bite of his lunch.

Auruo turned to his mother, who was currently attempting to convince Francois to eat his lunch. “What’s he talking about?”

She sighed and pushed back a flyaway strand of hair, her shoulders drooping slightly. “There’s a wedding this afternoon.”

He blanched. If his head wasn’t a tangled mess of garbage he might have picked on up it himself. His brothers were dressed in their nicest clothes, their unruly hair tamed as much as it could be. He noticed the baskets by the door. Christophe’s declaration of being the loudest made more sense, now; in his neighborhood, it was tradition for the children to gather after the ceremony, scattering a mess of flower petals and making unholy amounts of noise as they led the procession, before finally delivering the new couple to their new home. Supposedly it was good luck, though in Auruo’s opinion the whole affair was ridiculous. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“We thought … I didn’t know if it was something you’d want to do today. You don’t have to, you can – you can stay here and rest more, if you’d like. In fact, I think maybe you should. It’s going to be … well, who knows when you’ll get a chance for some good rest next, right?”

The worst part was that she meant it – if he decided he wanted to stay home and avoid his family and the rest of the world, she would let him and not say a single word about it. She probably wouldn’t even hold it against him. She could be picky, overly-emotional, and embarrassing, but there was no denying that she was a better person than most.

Not for the first time, Auruo wondered how he’d managed to come from such good people, when he himself was such a disappointment. “Nah,” he said at last. “It’d be boring around here by myself.”

His mother smiled at this. “You used to like being alone. Used to leave every Sunday and spend the whole day outside doing who knows what.”

He shrugged.  "I got used to the noise.”

It was more than that, but his mother didn’t press. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll just have to figure out how I’m going to keep Francois occupied.” She gave a soft, self-deprecating laugh, as if she would be the one making a fuss during the ceremony and not the toddler.

He could just see it now; his harried mother with five boys in tow as she attempted her errands, two of them being too young to really know how to behave in public.  It would be this way every day that he was gone, but at least this afternoon he could do something about it. “How ‘bout you stay home with the brat, huh? I’ll take the others to this thing, keep an eye on ‘em.”

He could tell that this had been the right thing to say; her eyes became bright, and she reached out to squeeze his hands atop the table. “Oh sweetheart, you don’t have to …”

“I don’t mind,” he said with a one-sided shrug. “‘Sides, the last thing a wedding needs is a crying brat.” He didn’t say that she could use the rest, and that it would be his last gift to her – the last one in a long time, if he was lucky. If he kept his head beyond the Walls. He wouldn’t be here to mind his brothers and darn socks and help with dinner and the thousand other small things he’d done when he’d been a member of this family, but he could do this, at least. This small thing. “C’mon, Ma. Let me take care of it.”

And, at last, she acquiesced with a silent nod. Who could say why? He wondered about it, thought that she might have argued for the sake of it, or argued because she’d rather die than spend this last day pretending it wasn’t. Yet maybe like him, she couldn’t bear the thought of a final afternoon spent trying to swallow her unhappiness, and instead would rather spend it keeping busy.  

He squeezed her fingers quickly, thankful that at least in this way, they were alike.

~

At first, Petra searched. She knew it was futile, and her effort was probably unwanted.  Karanese was a massive district with tens of thousands of inhabitants, and Wil had specifically chosen to lose herself in the flow of people rather than face today, so even if Petra was to find her friend, it wasn’t likely Wil would be happy to see her.

And yet, she still searched. She felt oddly uncontained, pulled apart by a gamut of emotion that conflicted wildly with itself; happiness that managed to be coy, fear and sadness, grief. And above it, the buzz of anticipation, settling in her anxious limbs. She was eager to begin her life, to finally undertake her dearest ambition. But there was a lot to leave behind; her father, Wil. Her home.

She wandered it now, combing intently through the familiar streets. She scoured the market, the nice neighborhoods surrounding her home, the even nicer ones closer to the governor’s mansion, where members of the Merchant’s Guild lived. She knew it was useless, but she couldn’t let herself give up without at least making an effort. She lost count of how many circuits she paced before finally cutting through the alleys to her home, slumping on the stoop.

Another might have been angry, but Petra understood. Not everyone understood how to savor, and fewer knew how to say goodbye.

She felt something soft brush her ankles, and looked down into the worried, feline gaze of none other than Calliope. It astounded her that her childhood companion remembered her well enough to lurk by her home, waiting patiently for her return. She bent down to scratch behind those soft ears, biting her lip when the cat began to purr.

“It’s not forever,” she assured her.

Calliope mewed pitifully, nudging her furry head against Petra’s knee. Somehow, she seemed to understand that while it may not be forever, it would be another long stretch of time guarding an empty stoop, waiting for her person to come home.

~

Auruo had nearly succeeded in rounding up his brothers for their excursion down the street when Petra materialized on his doorstep. She was announced by a delighted chorus of boys screaming her name, loudly enough that a flock of birds perched on the roof took flight, wheeling skyward to someplace quieter.

“Petra?” he blurted, wobbling as Etienne yanked on his arm. He looked at her neatly braided hair and remembered it mused, wound through his shaking fingers. He saw her face and remembered it as he’d seen it last night; half-lidded eyes, lips parted in a soundless moan. Shameful heat rose to his cheeks; for one stupid, heart-stopping moment, he had completely forgotten that anything else existed in the world.

But then he noticed her expression, and the world returned. “Do you mind if I spend the afternoon here?” she asked in a small voice.

And he understood instantly. If she was here, then Wil had gone. He should have known; if he’d been in his right mind, he’d have warned Petra that Wil was another person who couldn’t deal with difficult feelings and reality, that instead she’d pretend it couldn’t touch her. And that would be impossible to do in the presence of someone so honest, so keenly attuned to everything they felt and knew.

“Yeah!” he managed finally. “Of course. Uh – come in.”

She was welcomed instantly by his swarming brothers and the haze of their easy, excitable chatter – Etienne even detached himself from Auruo’s arm to yank on Petra’s instead. And it warmed him to see that this made a clear difference; the sadness in her eyes seemed to fade, and when she looked up at him, a small smile curved her lips.

Her lips …

“You’re staring,” his mother said as a sly aside before bustling past to usher Petra inside.

_“Mom!”_

It was a glorious, stupid mess of people talking, so that he could only glean unrelated snippets of conversation – his mother holding Petra’s hands and squeezing them tightly, Christophe announcing to the room that he could lift a full armful of firewood now, completely for Petra’s benefit. It flowed around him like a river, and it was comfortable; familiar. He wasn’t glad for the circumstances, but he could be nothing but glad that she’d come.

“But we have to go _now,”_ Benoit said irritably. “We’ll be late if we don’t go now.”

“Now!” crowed Etienne.

“We’ll be too early if we go now,” Christophe shot back. “Petra just got here.”

Through the commotion, he felt Petra touch his wrist, her gaze questioning. “Where are you going?”

It took him a moment to collect his thought, whirling at the reality of her touch and the memory it inspired. “Ah … there’s a wedding a few blocks over. I’m taking the brats to do the thing.”

“I had no idea!” she said, instantly delighted. “I’ve never seen one here before!”

“They’re not so different,” Auruo said with a shrug, though that wasn’t exactly true.

“Don’t let him put you off,” his mother said with a smile, hitching Francois against her hip. “He’s always had a problem with the traditions.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Petra said with a smile of her own.

He scowled at the pair of them. “Just ‘cause people have done something a certain way forever doesn’t mean it’s right.”

“Oh, come on Auruo. It’s a wedding, not some life and death matter.” She edged closer, craning up to look at him. “You did this when you were young, then?”

“Can you see Auruo participating willingly?” his mother said, and she seemed to take great pleasure in clarification. “He dumped the basket of flowers outside the temple and refused to make a sound the entire procession.”  

He might have been annoyed with this unnecessary trip down memory lane if it hadn’t made Petra laugh; a little desperately, but there was genuine amusement in her eyes. Even tempered by sadness, she was so incredibly beautiful that it hurt to look at her.

“We’re going to be late,” Benoit interjected. “We have to go now.”

“Now!” Etienne echoed. “Now, now!”

Auruo lifted the excitable toddler onto his shoulders and ushered the rest of them to the door. “Geez,” he muttered. “Since when’re you little shits so pushy about this garbage?” He ducked so Etienne wouldn’t smash his forehead on the doorjamb before craning over his shoulder. “You wanna come, then?”

Her answer was immediate: “Of course I want to come.”

Bidding his mother a harried farewell, they made their way down the streets, which were already packed with well-wishers and guests. Auruo waved vaguely to those he knew, warding off their greetings and conversation by ducking closer to his brothers, so that they would see he was busy and leave him alone. He could think of nothing he’d like less than talking with people he knew on a superficial basis. His mother seemed to thrive on these conversations, and of course Petra was a friend to anyone she spoke to. But he hated groping clumsily for something to talk about, feeling the words clatter awkwardly on his tongue.

Petra watched the commotion with wide, bright eyes, her copper braid bouncing slightly between her shoulder blades with each step. She caught him looking, and for once he didn’t avert his gaze, not even when a rush of heat colored his cheeks. He met her gaze and grinned.

He couldn’t take her hand because they were clad in uniform, and there was a certain standard of behavior to observe when walking through the streets as a soldier, but he thought about it. He thought about twining their fingers, bringing the back of her hand to his mouth, pressing a slow, soft kiss there.

“I’m sorry about Wil,” he told her instead.

She sighed, her slight shoulders drooping. “I should have expected it. I know she doesn’t like … you know. Goodbyes, feelings.”

He could think of nothing to say to this. It was true, certainly, but it was no excuse.

They reached the temple just as the ceremony began. Benoit was very irritated by this, as there was nothing he hated more than being late, but Auruo shot him a chiding look and he stowed the rebellion.

They perched outside with the rest of the gathered children and their guardians, listening to the service inside. Beckoning quickly, Auruo led them to an unclaimed window, so they could spy on the couple and their chosen witnesses and guests. Auruo recognized the pair immediately; the man worked at the mill, and for two years they’d manned Forge Six together. The woman served drinks at one of the local taverns. He almost didn’t recognize them outside of their everyday wear; today they were clean, dressed in modest finery, both smiling so wide that Auruo had to look away.

Spreading his hands, the priest intoned: “Lord of rivers, Lord of stone; Lord of sea and sky …”

“This is lovely,” Petra whispered.

“The ceremony’s the boring part,” Christophe informed her. “The fun’s when we get to throw shit and make a lot of noise.”

“Don’t talk like that outside Temple,” Benoit hissed. “God doesn’t like it.”

“God doesn’t like anything. Why else you think things are the way they are?”

It was an alarmingly bitter thing to come from the mouth of a child; with a pang, Auruo realized Christophe was parroting one of his many tirades, and a swell of shame overcame him. “Hey, hey. It’s bad luck to talk like that at a wedding.”

“You don’t believe in luck,” Christophe accused.

Auruo put his finger to his lips. “Geez. They’re gonna kick us out if you don’t keep it down.”

Fuming, Christophe turned away from the window, kicking sullenly at the dusty bricks of the Temple wall. They watched in silence as the priest said his blessings, invoked the invocations, and all the other nonsense Auruo purposely ignored over the years. He chanced a sidelong glance at Petra; she was enraptured, her wide eyes bright, leaning eagerly toward the window, like one would draw close to a fire.

Inspired by her example, he watched the wedding too. He watched as the priest tied the ceremonial cord around the couple’s clasped hands; he watched as they spoke their vows, looking only at one another. His former colleague began to cry as his soon-to-be wife spoke, tears streaming down his cheeks, for once devoid of soot.

For some reason, it made Auruo think of the day he’d met Petra. His skull had throbbed and his ribs had ached from the beating Gerrard and his friends had given him. He could hardly see at first, but he had seen her, every inch, and the memory was etched in his brain, behind his eyes. She’d been smaller, skinnier, clad in that implacable yellow dress. Merely a stranger then, but he’d known as soon as she opened her mouth; he wanted to marry her someday. He still did.

Embarrassed, he turned away from the window. “What kind of idiot cries at his own fuckin’ wedding,” he muttered.

Petra pinched his arm. “I’d cry at mine. I probably would cry the whole day. There's nothing wrong with that, either.”

“Geez …”

As he watched, he realized he was saying goodbye to this too. They would be soldiers, and it wasn’t likely they’d ever have the chance for something as normal as marriage – something as lovely as domestic bliss. This was the nature of their mutual sacrifice, and he made it willingly, knowingly; he made it without regret. But even with this certainty, he looked at Petra and wondered what might have been if there were no Walls, no Titans; if they were free to do as they wished.

Without looking away from the ceremony, she gently took his hand and laced their fingers together, squeezing just once. And it was all right. The future was uncertain, and their prospects as soldiers few, but there was this: the feel of her hand in his, and the certainty that she’d have his back, and he’d have hers. It would be all right.

~

After the ceremony, the newly wedded couple and guests poured out of the Temple and into the streets, and the recessional began. A teeming horde of children led the way down the promenade, hurling flower petals in every direction and screeching shipping songs at the top of their lungs. It was cacophony, glorious and alive; Petra was swept along, buffeted by the enthusiasm of the children, and the tender romance of what she’d just seen. It mingled with her sadness, until her heart was too full to bear.

She saw Auruo, shuffling a short distance behind his brothers, his hands jammed into his pockets, wavy hair sticking out in those beloved, familiar tufts. And a terrible affection took hold of her heart; without thinking she tugged on his hand and pulled him down to her level and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

His expression betrayed sweet surprise, and she loved him more than she ever had. “What was that for?” he asked, bewildered.

“I’m glad for you,” she told him. “I’m glad I met you.”

“Where’s this coming from?!”

“I don’t know,” she said with a small shrug. “I’m just glad you’re here. I’m glad you came last night, and I’m glad we’re going to the Survey Corps together. I’m just …” she trailed off. “I’m so glad for you.”

She watched as that tender blush colored his cheeks, and remembered a thousand similar blushes she’d seen from him over the years. This was different, though; this had acquired a certain weight, a resonance she didn’t understand. Somehow, she had said exactly the right thing, for he leaned down and returned her gesture, pressed a kiss to her cheek and let it linger, close enough to her mouth to make her shiver with the possibility of it, the risk. 

She turned to face him, eyes widening. The last thing she’d ever expected from Auruo was such a public, naked gesture. But perhaps he knew that it was the last time they’d be able to do anything like this in open sunlight, and he’d jumped at the chance. So she did too; she threw her arms around him and his slipped around her waist, and there they remained until the sounds of singing children grew distant, and fluttering flower petals drifted lazily to their feet.

~

After the recessional, Auruo and Petra collected his brothers and made their way back home. He held Etienne against his chest, and the exhausted, heartsore toddler notched his chin over Auruo’s shoulder, huffing once before sagging into his arms. When they turned onto the main thoroughfare, Benoit stubbornly took hold of his hand, gripping his fingers so tightly that they went numb after only a block. He glanced down at his younger brother and noticed a resolute set to his jaw, yet still his lip trembled. All his brothers were similarly subdued; they seemed to realize collectively that this was it.

“I don’t wanna go home,” Etienne whined, teetering on the edge of a tantrum.

“You gotta, bud,” Auruo said, rubbing the toddler’s back. “Ma’d miss you if you never came home.”

“But you’re not coming home,” Didier said quietly. “And she’s going to miss you.”

“That’s ‘cause I got a job now,” Auruo explained, swallowing the pang of grief. At his side, Petra brushed the back of his hand. “I gotta go off and make a lot of money for you guys. We talked about this already, remember?”

“And kill Titans,” Christophe put it, his tone defiant. “I think it’s cool. I’m gonna kill lots when I join the Survey Corps, too.”

Auruo shot his recalcitrant brother a look. “I’ll make so much money you won’t have to.”

“I don’t care about the money,” Christophe argued. “I wanna join because I wanna.”

That was as much as he would say on the matter; all his brothers could be righteously stubborn when they had a mind to be, but oftentimes Christophe’s veered into pure obstinance for its own sake. It encouraged another uncomfortable realization; he was more like Auruo than Auruo would have liked.

“You won’t have to,” Auruo said again, his voice firm. “None of you will.”

Without warning, Didier burst into tears. Petra quickly gathered him into her arms and rubbed his back consolingly, but he would not be comforted. “I d-don’t want you to go …” he whimpered, and buried his face against her shoulder.

“It’s not forever,” she said soothingly. “Shh …”

“But you just came back yesterday,” Didier sniffed. “You never stay long. You always leave right after you come back.”  

Auruo could hardly bear this display; he expected tears and tantrums from Etienne and Christophe, but never Didier – so quiet and thoughtful, always looking out at the world with wide eyes. “Look, I’ll come back. Soldiers get furlough, okay? Sometimes even for a few days.” He trailed off, grappling for a more convincing argument. “Even if I didn’t join the army, I’d still have to leave home.”

“I don’t like it,” Didier whimpered, muffled against Petra’s canvas jacket. “It’s not fair.”

The last thing Auruo wanted to do right now was tell his brothers that nothing in life was fair, and they’d better get used to it. Instead, he scuffed the boy’s head with his free hand, and they continued on in miserable silence, punctuated only by Didier’s piteous sniffling.

The afternoon faded into early evening. Bright daylight slowly acquired a subtle glow, muted orange; it lit the streets like nostalgia – a place to which he could never return, one he could visit only in his memory. For the last time, he put Karanese behind him: the familiar cobbled streets, the bandy of conversation between merchant and shopper, the lulled voices of Garrison soldiers as they manned their posts. The outline of homes and shops against the sunset sky.

 “Look,” Petra whispered, pointing.

Overtaking their place in the street was a contingent of Survey Corps soldiers, astride their horses. It’d been a few years since Auruo had last seen one, and they were every bit as austere and impressive as they had been then. A large blond man rode at the head of the formation, his hair cut in severe, military fashion, and at his right hand was a soldier Auruo would have recognized anywhere, even though he’d never seen him before.

“It’s Levi!” he breathed.

Humanity’s Strongest was even more intimidating in person; the posters and news clippings over the years had not done him justice. His features were sharp as the blades at his hip; he looked out at the world with a weary sort of resignation, as if it no longer surprised him to be disappointed by anything. Perhaps he’d never been disappointed, or learned early that you were a fool to expect too much. He seemed exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes etched permanently, yet he did not abandon his resolute scan of the surroundings.

It was impossible not to look at Levi and see a survivor.

“They must be here for the ceremony,” Petra said, craning closer. “He’s even shorter in person.”

“Geez, Petra!”

“What?! He is!”

“That’s all you got to say?”

“For your information, it’s not,” she said, drawing herself up with great dignity. “He looks sad, too.”

“He looks like the best soldier there is.”

As if he’d sensed them speaking about him, Levi’s keen gaze swept over to them, and for a moment they looked only at each other. Auruo wondered what it was that Levi saw. He felt his ears grow hot, and his tongue suddenly felt too big for his mouth; he knew he looked ridiculous, a mop head recruit with a horde of small children clinging to his arms and neck. Embarrassed by the older man’s scrutiny, he dropped his gaze to his scuffed boots, which he had not thought to polish for the occasion.

He only looked up when the contingent had passed. “Why are you so flustered?” Petra asked him, flashing him a coy grin.

“It’s Levi,” he said again, as if that explained everything.

~

He wouldn’t remember much of this goodbye; not his mother tearfully urging him to keep writing, nor his brothers in various stages of despondency as they wished him well. Not Benoit’s, spoken quietly, an old man in the body of a boy. Not his father’s: a note written in an inexpert hand that looked a lot like his own, folded carefully into his things. It was better that he didn’t remember, that it passed from his thoughts before he’d stepped onto the main street with Petra at his side. If he’d savored everything, it would have hurt more.

Rather, he felt a strange numbness as he turned his back on them and walked away. It would hit him later, and by then he would be alone. They wouldn’t have to see it.

~

The East 102nd gathered in a torchlit enclosure, speaking in low, nervous voices. The ceremony was supposed to have begun at sundown, yet they were still waiting – fidgeting anxiously in their places. Most were eager to leave behind this branch of the military and begin their careers as Military Police or Garrison soldiers, but before they could do so, they would have to listen to the Survey Corps Commander’s speech first.  

“Waste of time,” one muttered.

Another day she might have chastised her classmate; tonight, however, Petra said nothing. It made sense that it was required to hear the Commander’s pitch. The Survey Corps was the most dangerous branch, and the most desperately in need of personnel; the hope being that the Commander’s words would sway any recruits still on the fence.

Petra couldn’t think of any who might be swayed into giving their lives for humanity, none who hadn’t already made the choice.

There was a small commotion behind her; she craned around and caught a glimpse of a familiar white-blonde head moving through the crowd, edging their peers aside until she came to a stop beside Petra, falling into a stiff parade rest. She stared ahead at nothing and no one, her throat working.

“There she is,” Axel said, for once without his genial grin.

Whatever understanding Petra had managed earlier today vanished in that instant; a flash of hurt curled in her gut, and her features pinched with unhappiness. “Where were you?” she whispered.

Wil didn’t turn. “Juggernaut.”

Their old code, the signal to drop the subject. Tears sprung to her eyes; blinking furiously, she set her jaw and faced forward, swallowing the wounded protest.

“Seriously, where the hell were you?” Auruo hissed.

Wil ignored him. For a brief second, Petra thought she saw a muscle flicker in her friend’s jaw, but the moment passed. Probably a trick of light. She was looking for truth where there was none; an explanation for something that eluded understanding. Anything.

Auruo opened his mouth again, but before he could say his piece the Commander strode onto the stage and a hush descended over the gathered recruits. Still, she felt Auruo’s anger on her behalf radiate like heat against the back of her neck. If they had not been soldiers about to speak their vows, she would have taken his hand. As it was, she fell into parade rest and stared straight ahead.

Commander Erwin Smith gazed out at recruits with measured calm that she knew she’d go her whole life never knowing. She was close enough to see that his uniform was immaculate, every inch of cloth perfectly pressed, even after a day of riding. His boots shone like the face of a new coin. Above his heart were the Wings of Freedom.

“I’ve heard you tonight,” he began, and his voice carried to every corner of the compound. “To most of you, this ceremony is a waste. You decided long ago that you would keep the Walls, and the elite among you would go on to serve the King. These are respectable pursuits; necessary to the structure of our society. Prudent. You would not be wrong to choose either.

“Yet I am here to ask you to choose differently. I am here to ask you to choose the Survey Corps.”

The recruits were too dutiful to shift in place and mutter amongst themselves; regardless, Petra could almost sense their incredulity. She straightened her back and smoothed her expression.

“I will not lie to you. It is a dangerous calling. Half of our recruits die in their first expedition.  Surviving your first expedition is no guarantee, either; there are veterans of many forays beyond the Walls who can die just the same. That is the nature of our foe; they can be unpredictable, and an unpredictable enemy is difficult to overcome.

“Difficult, but not impossible. If you join the Survey Corps, you will have the honor of fighting among the strongest soldiers in the world. Soldiers like Captain Levi, who has killed countless Titans and is one of our most decorated veterans. You will have the honor of becoming one such soldier yourself. You will be the first line defense against the Titans, and you _will_ be responsible for their final defeat.”

A surge of murmuring stole through the crowd. Petra saw some recruits avert their gaze from the Commander; indicted by his fervor, but too terrified to follow his charge. But not everyone could resist such earnest words; among a few, she saw uncertainty … indecision. She realized it must an attractive prospect for those who were proud, who were hungry and anxious at the presence of the Walls, who had resigned themselves to safe mediocrity in the Garrison. Who could resist the call of the true elite? The call of _freedom_? She craned to get a closer look at the Commander’s neutral expression; it was an interesting angle to take with a handful of young soldiers, especially those who hadn’t yet made their choice. He spoke to their hope, and their pride.

His impossibly blue eyes narrowed, so slightly that she might have been imagining it. “Those of you not interested in becoming such a soldier; you may leave.”

This was not the moment of decision for Petra, for she and Auruo had made their choice years ago, but one of goodbye. As most of their peers fell out of parade rest and vacated the enclosure, she braced herself for Wil to slip away, gone as suddenly as she’d come. Yet the moment lengthened, and Wil did not leave. She stood stiffly, her eyes clenched shut, hands balled into shaking fists behind her back.

“What are you doing?” Axel hissed.

Wil did not respond; her head tipped toward her boots, but Petra had seen her expression crumple. Her brows furrowed, and she chewed savagely at the inside of her cheek. “Fuck,” she mouthed. “Fuck, fuck.”

“Now’s your chance,” Auruo said sharply. 

Wil could never resist a chance to give Auruo a hard time; in her opinion, he invited criticism by being reticent to the point of farce, not to mention sharp and impatient. But for the first time in the years she’d known either of them, Wil remained silent and unresponsive. Every few moments she’d breathe another curse, too soft to be heard.

Not for the first time that night, Petra’s eyes filled with tears. She’d expected them, prepared for them. She’d thought they’d be ones of goodbye, but now it was shame and love that filled her heart. She had misjudged her friend; they all had. Even Wil had misjudged herself.

At the head of the enclosure, Commander Smith brought a fist to his heart. “You have my respect. Now offer me your hearts, soldiers of the Survey Corps!”

They were no longer children or recruits; they were soldiers, and soldiers of the Survey Corps obeyed.

~

Commander Smith had no sooner dismissed them when Axel took Wil’s arm and spun her around. “What the hell?”

“Why didn’t you leave?” Oskar echoed.

“You had the scores -- you spent the last three years shoving it in all our faces.”

“I didn’t shove shit in your face, Axel,” Wil snapped with some of her old fire. “As I recall, you were happy to shove it right back up until a few months ago.”

“That’s different.”

“Right, sure it is. Fuck. Could you maybe stop manhandling me?”

After a heartbeat, Axel obeyed. “You know you can’t change your mind,” Martin told her softly. “There’s only a few ways you can leave service to the Survey Corps, once you commit.”

“I don’t give a shit. I’m not changing my mind. Fuck, can you all stop looking at me like that?”

“I don’t understand,” Auruo said; for once, his expression was nearly naked with surprise. “What about the Military Police?”

“Screw the military Police. Isn’t that what you said?”

“I thought you didn’t care,” Petra whispered.

“I don’t,” Wil interrupted sharply, pivoting in the gravel to face them all. “I don’t give a shit about being good, or elite, like that fucking blowhard said. I don’t give a shit about his Survey Corps, or humanity, or whatever. I don’t a single solitary fuck about any of it. But …” She trailed off, her gaze dropping to the scuffed toes of her boots. In the torch-lit darkness, she seemed almost hardened, chased to some inevitable conclusion. She seemed braver. “Fuck. I care about you idiots.”

“…Are you kidding me?” Axel said.

“No, I’m not kidding. Someone’s gotta look out for your dumb asses; yours in particular. I know you think you’re hot shit because you’re first in the class, but that doesn’t mean anything. So … fuck. I figured I better stick around, otherwise I’m going to have to hear about you morons dying from the Internal Affairs office or whatever.”

Petra had heard enough. Before Wil could flee, she threw her arms around her reluctant friend’s shoulders and held her tightly. “I would have missed you so much.”

“Yeah, yeah … calm down. It’s a good deed kind of day, you know?” She felt Wil grin against the side of her head. “This one ought to last me awhile.”

Axel made a sound that might have been a laugh, wound tight with emotion. “God, Wilhelmina. You really fooled me.” And he threw his arms around them both. Oskar and Martin followed suit, Martin wedging under the taller boy’s arms; even Auruo joined in the gesture, though it took a moment of coaxing and eyerolling before he acquiesced.

“You guys are disgusting,” Wil said, caught between laughter and dismay.

“Shut up, Wilhelmina.”  

It didn’t make leaving her father any better, and it wouldn’t make it any better for Auruo either, with the memory of his family’s last goodbye still etched in his hooded eyes; regardless, as she held her friend, a swell of hope took hold of her heart. It felt right that they do this together, the six of them. That they rely on one another beyond the Walls, take refuge in another’s strength.

It would be all right.

 

-End of Part II-

_2 years left_

 

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read, kudo'd and commented! I'd appreciate your feedback on this chapter especially, since we're starting some new things, got some new characters floating around. Thanks to Manna, whose characterization of Gelgar was huge inspiration in writing him. Thanks again guys!

_-Part 3: The Children’s Crusade-_

 

After a restless night spent in the ancillary barracks, the newest members of the Survey Corps filed into the familiar horse-drawn carts and began their long journey south. Unlike the various Interims they’d enjoyed over three years of military education, where the trek would be filled with eager conversation as they approached their homes, on this cloudy morning hardly anyone spoke. They looked out at the bucolic countryside without really seeing the trees, the fields being tended by tan-faced farmers, the villages with streets lined by curious citizens. Each of them were consumed by private speculation.

Auruo’s thoughtfulness was neither stoic nor vague. He was restless. He was often restless, in fact – legs bouncing, hands jumping on his knees, his gaze wheeling over whatever lay before him – but this went beyond his typical affect. He thought of the life that waited for him, the room that would become more his home than the one he’d left behind, the people he would speak to more than his own family.

He thought of the unclaimed land beyond the Walls, filled with Titans. Unlike before, his unease was not an abstract sentiment, curling somewhere below the pit of his stomach, resurfacing only at his lowest days. Now, it waited for them -- it lurked in their future, not the result of blind chance but their own conscious choice. That should have made it better, yet Auruo couldn't shake the feeling he was walking into darkness, without knowing where his feet would land.

After a few hours of measured distance (‘beyond reproach’, he could almost hear her say), Petra gave in and curled at his side, slipping her arm around his waist. There were only a few hours of travel left, shielded from view in a covered wagon, and he would take advantage of them just as she did. Craning above the heads of his comrades for one last look at the driver, he slung his arm around her shoulders. But it wasn’t their careless touch from a few nights ago; today he was sure to make his arm light, his gaze remote, so that they might have been only friends.

They weren't the only ones to cling together; of the twenty recruits crammed in the wagon, most clasped hands or shoulders, some wedged themselves close to a friend and held tightly. Even Wil slipped her hand from within the folds of her cloak to brush Axel's fingers. And he was not so distanced from his friends that he didn't notice the way Axel's features lifted, as if he'd been waiting for this.

“How strange it is,” Oskar said, studying his upturned palms, “to listen to your silence.”

Auruo stared; no stranger than it was to listen to Oskar speak a complete thought, without using his many gestures to prompt understanding instead of words. Axel froze before nudging his friend's knee with his own. "What's gotten into you?"

He fixed them with a measured stare. "When we rode to training, you and Wilhelmina fought the whole way."

"Not the whole way," Wil argued for the sake of argument, a combative grin curling her lips. "Pretty sure dumbass over here had to take a nap at some point."

Oskar was unmoved by this clarification; after a moment he smiled and shrugged in an indulgent sort of way.

But Oskar’s uncharacteristic words stuck with him; Auruo had never known them to be so quiet, not in all the time they’d known one another. Axel and Wil especially, who never met a silence they couldn’t fill with their unique, infuriating brand of disagreement. With a tender pang, he realized that they were probably nervous too.

He had the odd suspicion that in the last few days he’d forgotten everything he’d learned in training. Had it not been for the fading ache in his muscles from the test a few days ago, this possibility would have consumed him -- he’d have had nothing solid to reassure himself with. As it was, the ache in his shoulders and hips told him that the knowledge was there, knit in bone and sinew.

But would it be a reflex, out there beyond the Walls?

The Survey Corps headquarters was located a few kilometers north of Trost district, close enough that Auruo could see Wall Rose on the far edge of the horizon. The land was different the farther south they went; he noted a lack of pine and brush across the plain and springtime chill rolling like mist from the river. Here, the air was cloying and warm, thick as soup. Newly budded branches shivered in the slight breeze, beckoning them forward.

He expected a single, massive building to serve as the headquarters, some imposing structure that would rival the Garrison in his home district, but instead the Survey Corps had repurposed an abandoned hamlet; it was comprised of many smaller buildings and a central courtyard, with a long stretch of worn field and forest marking the perimeter. From this distance, Auruo could see a pasture, and the small shapes of horses, goats, and even a few chickens.

"Is this the only base for the Survey Corps?" Martin was asking, arms crossed over the back of the driver's seat. "It's smaller than I expected."

"They got a like base outside every Rose district,” the driver said conversationally; at this point in their journey, he and Martin spoke with ease that Auruo could hardly fathom. “Trost’s is biggest though, bein’ that it’s the furthest south, and most of the expeditions go south.”

“That makes sense,” Martin said. “Since the Titans seem to come from the south, don’t they?”

“Aye, that’s it. North rarely sees much of anythin’ these days. We got -- well, it’s little better than an outpost round those parts, haven’t used it proper in months. Every now and again Commander sends up a squad to keep things in line, poke around.”

“It must not be worth the time and resources spent on upkeep, if there’s so little need,” Martin mused.

The driver craned around and gave Martin an appraising stare, one brow lifting into his thinning hairline. “I reckon Commander’ll like you.”

Martin’s expression remained curiously neutral; it was only because Auruo had known him for so long that he sensed his friend’s pleasure at the assessment. “Does the Commander stay on base with the rest of the soldiers, then?” 

“Nah, he’s got some quarters attached to the Garrison in Trost. That’s where he and the officers plan expeditions, logistics and the like.”

“Does he spend much time there?”

“Aye … you’ll still see him around headquarters, though. Keepin’ an eye on things.” The driver sucked his teeth and tugged gently on the reins, eyeing a stretch of muddy road before them. “There’s no better Commander in the military.” 

After years of practice, Martin was a professional when it came to wheedling information out of an unwilling subject; Auruo recognized his undemanding, slightly curious expression, one he knew concealed a burning desire to know everything there possibly was to know. “Why is that?” 

But finally, he seemed to have exhausted the driver’s willingness to indulge, for the older man cast an uneasy gaze above the bobbing heads of the horses, his shoulders hitching once. “Ah … you’ll wanna pay attention; we’re comin’ up on headquarters now.” 

Martin liked being denied as much as anyone, but he set himself apart in the way he handled disappointment: with a small nod, his lips pursing slightly. He slid off the back of the driver’s seat and rearranged himself at Auruo’s side, lapsing into thoughtful silence. Of all the questions the driver could have refused to answer, he drew that line at the subject of Commander Erwin Smith.

“Guess we’ll see for ourselves, then,” Auruo said in an undertone. “Fuckin' obnoxious.”

“It isn’t, really,” Martin said, fiddling with the handle of his violin case. “You probably could get in trouble for talking like that, showing a preference one way or the other. You’re supposed to be loyal and obedient to all the Commanders, especially the Commander-in-Chief.”

Auruo made a face. He wasn’t so sure; despite years of military education, it seemed stupid to him to blindly trust whoever was in charge, regardless of what they were actually like and what they believed. He didn’t know anything about any of the Commanders except the one who oversaw his trainee division, but this much was clear; whatever it was that Commander Erwin had done to gain the loyalty of their driver, it must have been great indeed.

Not for the first time, he felt hopelessly young and stupid; standing just on the brink of understanding, unable to see past the shoulders of those perched closer to that precarious edge. 

~

Auruo didn’t expect some fancy welcome when they arrived, but he thought they would at least be greeted by their new comrades before they were assigned barracks and told to settle in. Yet when the procession of carts rolled into the courtyard, it was disconcertingly empty -- devoid even of stable hands to tend to the horses. He realized with a slow pang that this was probably the driver’s job. 

Wil had the same idea. “Where the fuck is everyone?” she blurted, swinging down from the cart and tossing her pack over her shoulder.

The driver gave her an incredulous look. “What, do we got the royal family with us today? They’re workin’. You’ll see ‘em tonight.”

“What’s tonight?” she demanded peevishly.

Behind her, Martin made a placating gesture in a futile attempt to smooth the demand into a more palatable request, but it was too late; the driver, who’d been so accommodating when Martin was the one asking questions, was suddenly as deaf as a stone. He unhitched the horses and gently patted their muzzles before leading them toward the stables.

They had less than a heartbeat to contemplate their solitude before a woman strode into the courtyard, a clipboard clasped in her wide hands. “East block,” she said sharply, her tone a rough-hewn brogue, like water over ice. “Fall in. And don’t let me catch you greenhorns standing around with your thumbs up your asses instead of giving your superior officer the proper respect again.”

The twenty-six recruits from the East Trainee Division leapt to a salute before they could earn more of this stranger’s ire. Auruo’s brows lifted reflexively; she was the toughest, scariest scrap of a woman he’d had ever seen in his life, and he’d spent the last three years in the company of Wil, who took great personal delight in shitting on feminine conventions. She reminded him forcibly of a battered blade; from silver-streaked hair tied in a messy bun at the nape of her neck, to grey eyes that cut like steel -- nothing like the calm, thoughtful grey of Martin’s. Her uniform was worn, boots scuffed by countless battles.  The lines at her brow and corner of mouth seemed to be etched in stone, worn away as if by decades of strife. A scar threaded her eyebrow, draping halfway down her cheek.

An odd chill chased its way down Auruo’s spine when that steely gaze roved over him; this woman had probably seen more in five years than he would in his entire lifetime.

“My name is Squad Leader Brandt. You will address me as Squad Leader, or Squad Leader Brandt. None of this familiar, surname only shit. When you come back from more than fifty expeditions, you can call me whatever the fuck you want. You could call me Squad Leader Asshole and I’d let you.  But until then, you call me Squad Leader Brandt. Are we clear?”

The recruits were too startled by this overture to offer more than an anemic response, and Squad Leader Brandt’s eyes narrowed. “When I ask you a question, you’ll give me a ‘yes, sir,’ or ‘no, sir’. For the love of God, did they round up you idiots straight from the gutters?”

“No, sir!” Auruo cried with the rest, his tone rancid with sarcasm.  When Brandt turned away, Petra stomped hard on his foot, and he bit the side of his tongue to keep from gasping aloud until the taste of blood filled his mouth. He didn’t have to look at her face to feel the rebuke radiating from her.

 _“Don’t!”_  she hissed.

Maybe it was age; he was older and theoretically wiser, more experienced.  Maybe it was the fact that they weren’t currently entangled in a ridiculous dance around each other.  Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t want to run afoul of this obviously battled-hardened veteran, who looked like she could snap him over her knee if the mood struck. Whatever it was, for the first time in his life, he swallowed his temper and tightened the fist on his chest, as if to hold himself in check. 

“So instead of gaping like morons, act like you just had three years of the finest fucking military education crammed into those pea brains of yours,” Brandt snapped. And with a jerk of her chin, she beckoned them to follow.

“My god,” Axel breathed as they departed. “I’m in love.”

~

 

For the rest of the afternoon, Squad Leader Brandt led them on a tour of the compound. Her gestures were tight, her words flat and schooled, imprinted through rote rather than application. Regardless, Petra drank it in, hungrily; moved both by her curiosity and the suspicion that forgetting any of this would earn her new squad leader’s ire.

The Survey Corps headquarters reminded her of a larger version of her old village -- the layout was almost exactly the same, down to the design of the stables, and the many smaller buildings scattered around the central courtyard, like the spokes of a wheel.  It made her feel weirdly homesick, and weirdly encouraged; at the very least, she wouldn’t ever lose her way.

By contrast, Auruo looked more lost than she’d ever seen him. His hands were tight at his sides, shoulders hiked nearly to his ears, and there was a muscle flickering in his jaw. She didn’t dare touch him in their squad leader’s presence, though she wanted to.  “Are you nervous?”

Inexplicably, he flushed; it took her a moment to remember that she’d asked him the same question a few nights ago, when he’d been poised above, breathless and wanting. “I’m fine,” he said finally. “Don’t let that battleaxe catch you talking.”

It was so like him to deflect, but she couldn’t help but to be a little hurt by it. There had been a small part of her that held onto the hope that once they’d been as intimate as two people can be, he’d leave this reticence behind. He’d be as honest with her as he’d been that night, when he’d told her that he needed her, with that need so bare in his voice.

Soon they began to see other soldiers. Some didn’t spare the recruits a second glance, or even a first. Some watched them with a disconcerting mixture of curiosity and pity, leaning on their crossed arms, their mouths twisting. A few smiled and offered cheerful greetings, which earned them exasperated looks from their comrades.

Petra was struck most of all by their stoicism; even the cheerful ones went about their business with an oddly determined set to their mouths, some sort of pure, centered purpose, as if they knew what they were doing and believed wholeheartedly that even the smallest action served the whole. She hadn’t expected to see laziness among the soldiers of the Survey Corps, and it was encouraging to have her suspicions confirmed. 

Brandt indicated the mess hall, which was veined with twisting vines that almost completely obscured the brick, before weaving around to a collection of smaller buildings. “Normally, you’d bunk here, with everyone,” she explained in that same tight, uncomfortable tone. “But this year we got almost twice the recruits we normally get, and you’re the last block to arrive, so you’re all gonna have to make do with something a little different.”

‘Something different’ turned out to be a haphazard scattering of repurposed tents and sheds on the very edge of the perimeter. When Brandt opened the door to one of the larger shacks, a rush of air blew out to meet them, laced with dust. “Girls in here,” Brandt said, with another tight gesture. “Boys just over this way.”

Wil took her hand and tugged her inside, but Petra chanced one final glance over her shoulder before the door banged shut behind them. She knew it was stupid; they’d see each other tonight during dinner, and they’d see each other every day after that: as they trained, as they performed their duties, as they fought Titans beyond the Walls. But Auruo’s remoteness gave her an odd feeling; she watched as his features twisted with apprehension, cast to his boots, and wondered with increasing hurt why it should feel like a wedge between them.

~

Of the eight sheds housing the east block, Auruo and Martin were assigned the smallest of them -- a ramshackle affair that creaked and groaned with every gust of wind that blew in from the forest. The interior was hardly bigger than the water closet in Petra’s house; when Auruo spread his arms wide, he could brush either wall with his fingertips. Yet Martin seemed to like it; he tossed his things on the bottom bunk and flopped back with a smile, hugging his violin case to his chest.

“What’re you so happy about?” Auruo asked him.

His smile widened. “This reminds me of home.”

“Yeah? You live in a latrine there too?” 

Martin kicked at his legs, but Auruo pulled himself up into his bunk before he could land a blow. “ _No_. I just mean the whistling … don’t you hear it? The wind through the rafters.” 

Auruo could, in fact. He suspected it would end up contributing to his insomnia, but he didn’t tell Martin this, not when its presence seemed to bring his friend so much satisfaction. “Aha, that’s right. Your family lives in some drafty old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. ”

“I can’t wait to tell Rebecca about this.” 

“Oi! Are you even listening to me?”

He could hear rummaging below him, and he leaned over to get a good look; Martin was sifting through his pack for his notebook and pencils. Producing them, he began to scrawl a letter in his careful, aristocratic handwriting, tapping an irregular beat against the headboard with his feet. He looked up when he saw Auruo’s face hanging over the side. “Hm?” 

“Nothing. Never mind.” Auruo rolled his eyes. “You gonna send her another novel?” 

“I hardly think you’re the one to tease about that,” Martin replied, his tone unconcerned. “I’ve seen the letters you write your brothers. The last one you sent to Benoit was six pages.” 

“I had a lot to say,” Auruo muttered peevishly. “Geez. That was right before the tests, remember?” 

“Mhm. Well, I have a lot to say to my sister.”

Auruo flopped back and listened to the measured scritching of Martin’s pencil for a while. He thought he should try to start some letters to his own family, since he knew they would be anxiously waiting for them. They would want to know everything about his new home, and every figment that crossed his mind, no matter how small. And the longer he thought about it, the more the words burgeoned at the back of his throat, resonating like a full ache, desperate to be heard.

But what would he say? That it was strange to finally be here, after a lifetime spent working toward it. That it was nothing like what he expected, and also exactly what he expected. And also, that he didn’t know what to expect anymore. That he was nervous to meet his comrades, these battle hardened soldiers -- that there was still that bullied boy waiting for the inevitable blow lurking deep within him, almost completely buried by skill and affect, yet never buried deeply enough. That he was a bit terrified of his squad leader, but it was the kind of fear that clasped hands with respect, the kind that sensed truth without knowing exactly its dimension.

That now his first expedition was less abstract than it had ever been; not a goal, or a distant point on the horizon, but an eventuality that lurched closer with every passing minute. And he was afraid.

He curled onto his side and pushed these thoughts from his mind. He took comfort in Martin’s writing, and how every now and then he’d hum some unconnected melody that Auruo recognized from the concerto he was composing.

“How is she, anyway?” he asked after a long while.

A measured sigh. “She’s lonely. Her birthday is in a few weeks, and it’s made her very melancholy.”

“Isn’t she eleven?”

“Eleven-year olds can be melancholy.”

Auruo hesitated, cowed by the rebuke and his careless comment. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“It’s fine. It’s just -- since I joined the military, this is always a lonely time of year for her. Our parents are busy overseeing the planting, so everyone works from daybreak to dusk. There isn’t much time to spare on something like a birthday.”

“Yeah …”

“And it’s not as if she can visit while she works, either. It’s a serious undertaking. Our farm feeds twenty-six villages on the east side of Rose.”

Auruo had never realized the Klossner’s farm was that important. He knew they owned a farm, which meant they were pretty well off, relatively anyway, but he’d imagined some dinky little plot tended by his mother and father and what help they could hire. With a sinking feeling, he realized Martin probably downplayed his status because of Auruo’s endless ranting about the rich. “Do you miss it?”

The pencil scritching stopped. “I miss my family,” Martin said carefully. “I haven’t seen them since last Interim. It’s not likely I’ll see them unless they come to Karanese or Trost for my furloughs. And since they have a farm to run, that isn’t likely either.”

Auruo had only just come to terms with the fact that he’d see his family once every few months -- it was better than training, since soldiers were given furlough more regularly. He’d expected everyone with a family would take advantage of this ease. “It’s not like the farm’s gonna go away if they aren’t on it all the time. Or like they couldn’t alternate or -- or whatever. Right?”

Martin sighed. “It’s … different. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Before Auruo could interject, he heard the latch of a violin case, and before long Martin skimmed his fingers over the strings, three pairs of fifths resonating in the silence, so in that manner the subject was closed.

Auruo knew he should probably start unpacking his things, but instead he lay on his back and studied the wood grain of the ceiling slats, counting whorls and rings, tucking his unruly thoughts into each one. There was too much to think, and not enough space. Too much crowding for room. In this proximity, Martin’s violin sounded almost like someone singing an unbearable lament, even though the notes were light. 

With an odd jolt, he realized it had been hours since he last thought of Petra and the day before, and the realization struck him like a betrayal. He should think about her as much as it was possible for his brain to accommodate, yet here he was, trying to think of nothing at all. But he knew that if he let himself remember, then it would be all he could do.  He would float through his duties even more a fool than ever before. It would overwhelm him.

 _Beyond reproach_ , she had told him, that windswept day.  He was trying.

Soon, they would have to leave for dinner. They would have to brave the world beyond this shack the size of a latrine -- the largest space of his own Auruo had ever had in his life. In a little while he would have to go live the reality of his choice,  but for now he lay back and listened to Martin play and thought of nothing.

A chorus of furious knocking sounded on the other side of the door, and Martin startled so badly that his bow skidded across the strings, and his violin made a pitiful sort of shriek. It was the most ungainly, ungraceful sound Martin had ever made. He hastily stowed the violin in its case. “Y-yes?”

The door crashed open, revealing one of the veterans Auruo had noticed earlier. He was about Auruo’s height, but stockier -- his strong features lit by delight, his wheat-blond hair swept back into an unmistakable pompadour. Somehow, he seemed to fill whole doorway; his eyes swept the tiny room before focusing on Martin. “You.” 

“Me?!” Whatever assurance Martin had gained in the last years seemed to evaporate; suddenly, he was the unsure boy on the first day of training, his words tumbling out in a rush. “If -- if it’s against the rules to play, I’m sorry -- I - I didn’t know --” 

Auruo dropped down from his bunk, positioning himself between Martin and the stranger. “It’s not against the rules,” he said sharply. “It’s nobody’s business what you do in your own space.” 

“That so?” said the stranger, and his shit-eating grin widened by a considerable degree. “Well, you sound like an expert.” 

The mocking note was not lost on Auruo. His eyes narrowed, temper coiling in his empty stomach. “What do you want?”

“I want to ask your friend a question. What d’you say, bud? That alright?”

Auruo stared at the stranger’s inoffensive features, currently contorted by offensive sarcasm, like he alone was in on the joke.  _What an asshole._  Auruo shrugged and leaned back against the bunk, crossing his arms over his chest. “Make it fast. We gotta get ready for dinner.”

Martin gaped incredulously at Auruo; however, the stranger seemed delighted by the retort. “ _Thanks_ , bud. Now, you -- yeah, you. You were the one playing that violin, right? Alright, I’m gonna ask you something really important, so stay with me -- ready? You know any dance kinda music on that thing? You know, not that morose garbage you were playing, but stuff you can move your feet to. Stuff that’ll get the room bouncing. Know what I mean?”

“He knows what dance music is,” Auruo snapped. 

Martin shouldered his way out of his bunk, waving his hands placatingly in Auruo’s direction. “I -- yes. Yes, I do. 

Asshole stranger clapped Martin’s shoulder with one wide hand, hard enough that Martin nearly toppled over. “Perfect. Bring your violin tonight, then. Looking forward to hearing something other than Dunn’s goddamn bagpipes.”

And he swept from the shack as suddenly as he’d come. 

“You don’t have to do shit,” Auruo said quickly, facing his friend. “It’s not like this guy is some officer or whatever. Or if he was, he didn’t say it’s an order. He didn’t even ask us to salute, so that’s how I know. You don’t have to do anything.” 

“Of course I do,” Martin said. “What kind of precedent would that set if I refused?” 

“Except it’s not some nice request between friends; it’s some weird shithead trying to --”

“What? Set me up?” Martin’s expression became bored. “Please.”

“It happens! Don’t gimme that look.”

Martin pinched his brow, adopting an air of incredible long-suffering. “Auruo, I’m a professional.  What kind of musician would I be if I practiced without performance in mind?" 

“I know that! Geez, what the fuck -- you think I’m an idiot? I just didn’t know you knew any … dance kinda things. Folk songs.”

“Well, I …” Martin trailed off, a light hint of color flooding his cheeks. “It’s been awhile. But -- it’ll be fine. Okay? You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I don’t, huh.”

“No. You’re always worrying about me. And it’s very nice, but it’s also a bit tiresome.”

“Tiresome! Well, fine. From today on, I won’t give a single shit about you, how’s that sound, you little shit? I won’t care at all.”

Martin bent to arrange his violin in its case before straightening. He looked more adult than Auruo had ever seen him; his shoulders squared, expression resolute. But there was a hint of tender understanding in his gaze. “Yes, you will.”

~ 

As dusk fell, all one hundred and thirty-seven recruits crossed the compound to the mess hall, veiled by the cool night air and a sense of mysterious excitement. Petra and Wil were among the last to join the horde -- delayed by Wil’s insistence that they attempt to look as sophisticated tonight as possible. “First impressions are important,” she said, pinning Petra’s uniform shirt so that it hugged her slim stomach.

“I don’t know …”

“Well, I do. Lucky I stuck around, huh?”

It was, Petra thought; luckier than she knew how to express, and she could express quite a lot. Now, outside the safety of their tiny barracks, Wil slipped her arm through Petra’s, tugging her close. “Could I convince you to ditch the braid?” 

“What’s wrong with my braid?”

“Nothing, lamb. It’s very appropriate, or whatever. But you wear it every day, and it’s boring.”

“How exactly would the people we meet know that I wear a braid every day?”

“They wouldn’t … I guess. Don’t you think it’d be kinda fun to look nice for the people we know too?” 

Ah, ha. So here was her scheme. Petra pulled her neat braid over her shoulder, toying with the ends. “I don’t know …” she said, feigning uncertainty. 

“Come on. Just take it out for a little bit. Watch Boss’s eyes fall out of his head.”

The prospect was more than a little appealing. She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. For a little while.”

“Listen to you; like a fucking queen. ‘Alright, servant; undo my braid.’ Unbelievable." 

“I’ll do it myself,” Petra said, a little stung. “I wasn’t --” 

“I know, lamb. I’m teasing you. Did you forget that I like doing that already?”

As Wil combed her thin fingers through Petra’s braid, arranging it like a bright auburn curtain down her back, Petra thought maybe she had -- in those last weeks before the disbandment ceremony, her friend had seemed to be only half present, consumed by the inevitable end. Tonight marked her return to form; she grinned and mugged and struck up conversations with whatever strangers were in the vicinity.

“I wonder where our guys are,” she said at last, craning to peer over the heads of the recruits.

“They don’t belong to us.”

“Sure they do." 

Petra was too nervous to argue. She bit her lip as they stepped inside, pulling anxiously at a loose strand of hair. Undone, it came nearly to the middle of her back, and even in the darkness it shone, its own source of light. Now, in the mess hall, she felt like it had become a beacon, and a wave of self-consciousness overtook her. Everyone was staring at her. They’d see her loose hair and think she was some callow, frivolous girl more interested in stupid things than her job. She was about to tie it back up in a bun when she saw Auruo and Axel, hunching at an otherwise empty table.

“Oh, thank god,” Wil said, dragging Petra through the crowded room.

Devoid of their capes and jackets and 3DMG, both Auruo and Axel almost looked like civilians, sharing a drink after a long day -- Auruo had even rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, and the effect was so ridiculously attractive that for a moment her perception narrowed to that singular point; Auruo in sharp relief against a world of smudging, shifting color. When his eyes lifted to hers, she saw them widen -- just slightly, but just enough. Abruptly, she forgot about being nervous.

“You ladies are looking nice,” said Axel with his familiar grin. “I almost don’t recognize you without your hair back.”

“It was Wil’s idea,” Petra said, and she took a careful seat across from Auruo.

“That’s my Wilhelmina,” he said, kicking at her shins from under the table. “Positively bursting with good ideas.”

Wil grinned combatively. “Maybe someday one of those good ideas’ll rub off on you.”

“We can only hope.”

They lapsed into the rhythm of their regular banter, and both Petra and Auruo were left behind. She studied the color in his cheeks and compared it to that night; she knew that if she reached across the table and brushed her fingers against his neck, his skin might burn her. And her heart was beating loud enough that she was certain everyone could hear it, but she smiled at him, and after a moment he did too.

At the front of the room, Martin sat with a veteran she didn’t recognize-- a grizzled man with carrot-colored hair and a set of bagpipes slung across his lap. Martin was impossibly assured as he lifted his violin from its case and notched it against his neck, foot tapping a beat only he could hear.  They were strangers, yet they seemed to understand one another; they conferred like they’d been comrades for decades. She craned closer. “You didn’t say Martin was going to play!”

After a long moment, Auruo followed her gaze. “Oh, that. I dunno, some weird guy barged into our barracks and told him he had to play stuff for dancing, ‘cause they’re all sick of bagpipes.”

She stared. “Was it an officer?”

“Nah. I mean, I don’t think so. He didn’t make it sound like an order, I guess. He was trying to act like we were already friends, but in this real smug shithead kinda way.” Auruo’s expression soured. “What an asshole.” 

“Did you get his name?”

“Why the fuck would I do that? I just told you he was pissing me off.”

“But he’s your comrade now. You should probably at least know who he is.”

“I’m not gonna do that.” 

“Auruo, come on. You know you’re hard on new people. You didn’t like Axel at first either, remember? Or Wil. And now look.”

“That was different. That was -- geez, Petra. That was completely different.”

It wasn’t different and they both knew it. She smiled at him and caught her lower lip between her teeth -- intending to convey to him that she saw through his bullshit, but the look registered differently between them. His face darkened, and his eyes unfocused. He struggled uselessly for a retort before dropping his gaze to his hands, chewing hard on the edge of his tongue.  And it wasn’t fair that he could still be so attractive when annoyed and flustered -- that she could catch him and twist him up, entirely on accident, but still be caught by his reaction.

Unbidden, the memory of him on top of her filled her thoughts. He’d gasped her name against the crook of her neck, and his lips had nearly burned against hers …

Defeated by her own machinations, Petra turned away from him and watched the room. Lively music blanketed the conversation. At the front, Martin and the bagpipe player spun music that seemed to breathe with life, wheeling and optimistic, like the first day of spring. There was a commotion, and she turned just in time to see a blond man lifting a mug above the freshly opened cask, spilling frothy beer on his companion’s shirt.

“That’s him,” Auruo muttered. “That’s the asshole.”

“He doesn’t look like an asshole,” Petra murmured. Rather, she was struck by his obvious show of revelry -- he drifted from table to table and made superficial conversation with everyone, but it seemed desperate -- borne not of an easy personality, but of one who anticipates loneliness later. 

Together, they studied their new comrades. Unconsciously, she leaned across the table toward Auruo just as he leaned closer to her, so that they could speak softly without being drowned out by the voices and music.  He smelled like pine and horses, and the lamplight caught tints of burnished gold in his hair. He was so close that she could have closed the distance between them to brush his cheek.

Somehow, they shifted their awareness enough to study the others. They watched Wil and Axel -- speaking in low voices, wearing conspiratorial smiles. Auruo pointed out Oskar at the back of the room, silently sharing a drink with a small, towhead boy who didn’t look a day older than thirteen. She caught sight of Squad Leader Brandt, drinking deeply with some of the other older veterans; she’d rolled up her shirt too, revealing --

“Are those tattoos?!” Auruo hissed delightedly. 

“Oh, my god.”

They were indeed; long, stark lines that snaked over her muscular forearms and disappeared within the sleeves of her shirt. Petra glimpsed matching lines threading the line of her collarbone.

“She looks like she could break me in half.”

“She looks like she could break a Titan in half.”

They watched the recruits and veterans carefully mingle. Most kept to their own corners -- the vets at their tables, hunched over their drinks; the recruits skirting the action with anxious faces -- but every now and then a few brave souls would initiate contact. At first it was stiff in the way all new conversations are, as participants grope for something to say to someone they don’t really know. (With another small pang, she remembered that even when she and Auruo had been strangers, there had never been that awkwardness between them; they fell in together, like matching pieces).

But the night deepened, and those barriers vanished. The veterans and recruits intermingled as the music grew faster and more strident, every now and then punctuated by some melancholy lament Martin would play alone. They watched: Oskar and a massive blond man in silent accord, the latter pausing to inhale deeply; two recruits summoning the nerve to speak at length to the Commander himself; the pompadoured man from earlier wheeling around the room with a tall, dark-haired woman, laughing when his partner's hip collided with the edge of their table and spilled their drinks.

“Sorry, bud,” he said with a cheeky wink at Auruo. Before Auruo could retort, they were off again.

“What about me?” the woman was saying.

“Ah, Lynne, my hippy angel.  You better watch where you’re going. Someone could really get hurt.”

“Watch where  _I’m_  going?!”

Auruo watched the spinning pair disappear within the crush of other dancing soldiers, his lips twisting.  “What an idiot."

“Oh, I don’t know,” Petra said, leaning close. “I think he seems nice.” 

“You would. You think everyone seems nice.”

“That’s not true.”

“Sure it is. You give people more credit than they deserve.” 

“And you don’t give people enough.” 

It was their usual banter, but beneath it ran a thunderous current of frustration she didn’t immediately recognize. He was so close that she could catch the ashy scent of his hair when he turned his head. His lips looked impossibly soft, and she thought about them pressed to her neck, a low moan at the back of his throat. Every now and then his gaze would flicker up to hers before darting away, as if he thought holding her stare would implicate him. 

A rush of heat warmed the pit of her stomach, and she shifted in place, anxious to leave. To hide, to have him. It had seemed so easy to decide they should be beyond reproach when they were at training, and the reality of this place was still so far away. Here, in the thick of it, she thought it would defeat her.

As the night wore on, they watched the goings-on with increasing desperation. Better to notice others rather than notice each other, caught in such thrilling proximity. But not even their comrades provided the proper distraction. She watched as Axel and Wil rose from the table to join the dancers, spinning with surprising grace for such boisterous people, and from that moment on she could only think of doing the same with Auruo.

He would never ask, she knew. And if she asked him, he would flush tomato red before stammering his refusal. It was for the best that they stay and watch, that they enjoy the music from this safe vantage point. If he pressed her close, his hand splayed at the small of her back, if they joined the dances and spun until they could not breathe, she didn’t know what she might be tempted to do.

“For fuck’s sake,” someone said behind her. “Give it a rest.”

“Don’t be so sour, Levi. The whole point of tonight is to get to know our new comrades.” 

Auruo froze. His eyes went saucer wide; he gestured with a quick glance behind Petra’s back, but she didn’t need to look to know that this was Levi -- the infamous Levi, the one they called Humanity’s Strongest, and he was close enough to overhear.

Levi’s voice deadened. “Rub shoulders with the greenhorns if you want, but do it alone.”

As far as first impressions went, this one fell short. His companion, for her part, was undeterred by his unfriendly attitude; she burst into view with the sort of vitality that doesn’t manifest often, and certainly not in soldiers. She had thin, jumpy hands to match her angular features, and was prone to shifting her weight from foot to foot, quickly enough to keep from settling. She tied her dark, unwashed hair in a sloppy knot at the back of her neck, held in place by two pencils, and when she craned forward to get a better look at them, Petra saw that from behind her glasses, her eyes seemed almost too large for her face.

“Why aren’t you two dancing?” she asked them. “I saw your friends get up a long time ago.”

Auruo and Petra blinked at this odd stranger.  “How do you know they’re our friends?” Petra finally managed.

“You have the look of friends,” said the woman. “You’re all relaxed around each other. Or, well; they were around you. But you don’t look so relaxed.”

Petra’s impression of this woman solidified in that single, heartstop instant. She realized her energy wasn’t random but pure and focused, a terrifying study in the scheme of many things. She was active and intense because she was in constant assessment of her surroundings, completely engaged. There would be no fooling this woman.

After a moment, her intent expression gave way to a smile. “So relax, yeah? No one’s going to bite you. Well, no one here anyway. Beyond the Walls it’s a different story, hm?”

There was an almost inaudible hiss from behind them; when Petra and Auruo turned, they saw Levi in a darkened corner with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, looking so disgusted that Petra felt chastised, even though she hadn’t been the one to speak. She turned back to the stranger and swallowed, attempting a friendly smile. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

“Ah, ha! A diplomat, huh? That’s nice. That’s always nice. We have so many hotheads running around here, it’s nice to have someone around with peace on their mind.” The woman beamed and held out her hand. “I’m Hange Zoe.”

Petra took it. “Petra Ral. It’s really nice to meet you!”

“Likewise! You’re the first to really talk to me tonight.” Her razor focused gaze shifted toward Auruo. “And who’s your surly friend?" 

“It’s … Auruo. Auruo Bossard.”

“Wah! What a name! Au-wu-loh! Aw-ru-oh? O-ru-- Could you say it again? Is it French? It sounds French.”

 Auruo’s expression soured. “Don’t think you’re one to talk about weird names.”

“Ah, but a weird name’s a good thing! It’s got character. Personality! I’m not likely to forget you, Auruo Bossard. Or you either, Petra Ral. What great names! Attached to great people, I’ll bet.”

Petra aimed a kick at Auruo’s shins before he could say anything else -- knowing his record, it would probably be insufferably rude. “Likewise, I’m sure!”

“Well, I’ll let you two get back to your un-relaxed conversation, or whatever it was you were doing. I still have twenty-two recruits to meet. Cheers!” She offered a jaunty little wave as she departed, her dirty hair bobbing as she disappeared into the milling crowd.  And Petra was encouraged that this woman, who obviously possessed a keen mind and incredible skill, yet still took the time to welcome those new to her branch.

She swiveled back to Auruo, leveling an irritated glare at him. “You could be a little politer, you know!”

“What the -- why?! She was making fun of my name!”

“She was not, you idiot. She thought it was interesting.”

“Yeah, right. ‘Interesting’ like you’ll have fun laughing about it later.” 

“If that’s the case, she was laughing at my name too.”

“Then I really don’t like her.”

“No, she -- ugh.” She sighed, nudging his shins again. “You are so difficult.”

“Not as bad as you, nag. You gonna twist my ear for being rude to the new weirdos, now?”

“I’ll twist something.”

Predictably, he colored to the roots of his hair, and all the way to his ears. “Yeah, well …get to it, then.”

She expected the party to wind down, but if anything it grew more rowdy as the night continued. And to his credit, Martin played through it all; she imagined him like a conductor in one of Sina’s fine orchestras, shaping the revelry to fit his design. His shirt was damp with sweat, and a fine droplet teased at the end of his nose, but his fingers were sure on the violin. He didn’t miss a single note. Cradled by his music, old and new soldiers alike forgot their cares.

But Auruo was for once unaffected by his friend’s music. His gaze dropped to Petra’s lips, his eyes unfocusing -- a few hours ago he’d averted his eyes prudently, but now he was exhausted of his control. She watched him, and he watched her; they stared hungrily, until it seemed that the weight of it was almost physical.

She knew they should go back to their respective barracks and burrow deeply into the covers, and let the possibility of that touch ease this stupid need. But she couldn’t bear it -- not now, after hours of wanting and worrying, of remembering.

At the edge of her vision,  she caught sight of a massive, dark-skinned boy slip outside, followed quickly by a bespectacled girl nearly as tall as he was. “He’s got the right idea,” Auruo muttered, following her gaze.

“You want to leave already?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “I said I’d stay and listen to Martin.” 

“But …”

He dropped his gaze to his tangled fingers. “Yeah, I want to leave.”

A few hours ago she would have insisted they leave separately, so as not to arouse suspicion. Now, she stood and wove through the tables with Auruo so close behind she thought she could feel the heat of his breath, and she didn’t tell him to move away.

Outside, the cold air cut at their lungs, clinging to their damp clothes. She gasped when the difference registered; an entire evening in that sweltering mess hall had desensitized her, so the cold felt akin to winter, rather than late spring.

They walked in silence, keeping a circumspect distance apart, but when she caught sight of a slim alley between two barracks, she diverted and shoved Auruo inside before slipping in behind him. His chest brushed hers, and his forehead bumped the top of her head. Instinctively, his hands hovered above the dip at her waist.

 _“Shh,”_  she warned him in a shaking whisper.

It was too dark to see him nod, but she felt his hair brush her face, and took it as agreement. “Petra …”

After wanting to kiss him for a day that felt more like a year, finally kissing him was the most profound relief she’d ever known. It was everything she remembered, and more; his hands sliding under her shirt to grip her waist, one carding desperately through her loose hair. His lips; every bit as soft as she remembered, yet somehow still urgent with need. When she grazed those damn lips with her teeth, he actually moaned.

“Auruo,” she warned again.

“Fuck, nag … you can’t do shit like that.”

“You’re right,” she said, kissing his jaw. “We shouldn’t.”

“You shouldn’t,” he growled. “Walking like you do.”

“What?”

“Walking, your hips all -- geez. And touching your neck all the time. And while you’re at it, don’t fuckin’ wear your hair down like that. God, just --”

For a moment, she felt stung by his words. “Was it so awful?”

“It’s the opposite of awful. It’s just like -- when we were in your room, and it was all fanned out, and I see it all fanned out here and remember, and it’s like getting hit in the fuckin’ stomach, Petra. I can’t --”

“Okay, I won’t,” she promised him breathlessly, kissing his neck. “Don’t wear your sleeves up.”

“What?!”

“Your sleeves. I look at your arms and think about -- think about  _you_. On top of me. I just --”

He was quiet a long while, breathing hard. “You think about it too …?”

“What do you mean, do I? Of course I do! Auruo, come on!”

“Shh!”

She slung her arms around his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist, wedging herself against the wall at her back. He swallowed, and she caught a flash of his throat bobbing in the low moonlight. “Don’t grin at me like you do.”

He was burning under her hands, pushing against her hips -- one hand splayed at the wall above her head as he leaned forward, bearing her weight. “Like what,” he breathed against her cheek.

“Like you need me.”  _Like you love me._

And she hoped that he would deflect like he always did, that he’d laugh at her words or kiss her without acknowledging them. And in that kiss she could perhaps taste his agreement, a subtle thing, more easily accepted. But he was quiet again, and she could feel the wild beating of his heart in every inch of this small space. She felt it like it was her own wheeling heartbeat. “But I do …”

And then she was kissing him to keep him from saying such things, because it was stupid and they were stupid -- they were asking to be caught, doing this practically in the middle of headquarters. But he returned her kiss, his jaw taut under her clutching fingers, and she forgot her garden of worries. 

She arched into him, and he drove into her -- they clung to one another hungrily, pulling at inconvenient clothing, and if not for the voice, they might have gotten completely carried away.

“Levi!”

It was Hange; through the opening in the alley, they watched her messy bun bob as she sprinted to catch up. 

Soundlessly, they broke apart.  They were too entwined to untangle now; her shirt was half undone, and she could feel him pressing against her hip. “Don’t move,” she breathed. “Don’t make a sound.”

He nodded. But she clapped her hands to his mouth anyway. She could feel his arms shaking as he shifted, attempting to better handle her weight.

At first Levi and Hange spoke in voices too low to hear, no matter how badly they strained for wisps of their conversation. She heard terse footsteps scuff against the cobblestones, then: “I know how you feel about these things,” Hange said in a voice Petra almost couldn’t parse -- she might have thought it was tenderness, if not for the note of steel ringing true. “I know, okay? And I know why. And just because I don’t do it the same way doesn’t mean I don’t understand. So you don’t have to -- well, yeah! That, right there. What you’re doing. You don’t have to do that, not around me.”

The silence grew too long. For a moment, Petra thought Levi would reject this understanding, for he didn’t seem like a man who accepted any understanding, regardless of its source, but after that long, breathless silence passed, she could detect the sound of two pairs of scuffing footsteps, moving deeper into the darkness together.

 


	28. Chapter 28

**_5-19-48_ **

**_Benny,_ **

**_Alright, so I know you asked for long letters – “even longer than usual!” was what you said exactly – because you’re a heartless little brat that loves to put his noble, amazing big brother through the ringer. ‘Cause you know you can. That sound about right? But we gotta come to an understanding first, before I tell you any of this garbage._ **

**_Don’t tell the others. Not a one – not even Ma. Especially not Ma. I’m gonna tell you this stuff, but I don’t want them knowing about it, because they wouldn’t handle it like you. You know how to be calm about things. You know how to take it stride – probably the only one of us that can. Ma, though; if you talked to her about this crap, she’d go crazy worrying about it. And if you told any of the others, they’d tell Ma, who would go crazy worrying about it. See where I’m going with this?_ ** **_So just keep it between us._ **

**_It’s not like I’m all that crazy about this, ‘cause it kinda feels like lying. I know we’re not actually lying. I’m not telling her anything untrue in my letters … it’s just edited. Lots of stuff about Petra, lots of the good stuff. But we’re still not telling them the way it really is here. And it doesn’t matter so much that it’s for their own good; it doesn’t make it any better. God, it’s bad enough that I’m here and she’s gotta deal with it; if she knew …_ **

**_Well._ **

**_Even the good stuff here ain’t so great._ **

**_~_ **

**_We’ve only been here a week but already there’s a routine to it all. Six bells is when we’re supposed to get up. There were so many recruits this year that those of us from the eastern camp have to live in these little shacks on the perimeter, almost on the edge of the woods, so you can hardly hear it. I mean, I do – you know I’m a light sleeper – but Axel, you practically gotta dump a bucket of cold water on his head to wake him up. He’ll grump and groan and throw whatever’s handy at my head. Yesterday it hit Martin in the face, gave him a nosebleed so bad he had to stuff his nose with a tore up rag half the day. It kept falling out while we were training on the course, which was kinda funny – one of the vets even saw it on the ground and got all weirded out and shifty, like it was something else. Wil was so mad, though I think she just likes excuses to give Axel a hard time. They banished him to sit by himself during meals. He kept shooting us sad faces and being a real melodramatic baby about it._ **

**_Right, anyway. So after the bell, we gotta schlep across the grounds for breakfast. The mess hall’s a pretty big building, but like I said – there’s so many new recruits this year that you got people sitting on the floors and eating outside when the weather is nice. I overheard one of the officers talking about how it’s a good thing they got their own chickens and goats, but they still gotta import grains and beans and vegetables from the interior, and since there’s more mouths they gotta keep pushing for more. He made it sound like the King would be stingy about it, which didn’t really make much sense to me; shouldn’t they do whatever they can for the Survey Corps? Since we’re out here risking our lives to keep their fat asses out of the fire._ **

**_Mostly, me and Petra and the others huddle up in this corner, watching shit. You never saw such a spread of weirdos in your life, Benny. I’m telling you. You got people from all walks: poor folk who were after a meal, probably; people who used to be rich but fucked it up somehow, and now they’re here ‘cause they got no other place to go; criminals and thieves. No room for petty crimes in the jails, and all. They gotta send ‘em someplace they’ll actually be useful; dump them in a year of corrective training and then cart them here. Martin said that before the Titans, they used to kill people for thieving. Can you even imagine having that many people that you can just throw them out when they do something desperate, something to survive? Here, they’re forced to reuse us._ **

**_You think they might not put in their all, ‘cause they didn’t exactly choose to give their lives for the Wings, but supposedly if you survive and distinguish yourself for ten years and get the Commander’s approval, you can get transferred out. You got a lot of people hoping for it, ‘cause after they fucked it up in training that’s the only way they’re going to get the rich life._ **

**_I guess they wanna live, too. That’ll motivate anyone. Not really sure if they ever get that approval though. Maybe it's something they just tell them, or maybe no one lasts that long._ **

**_But anyway, the weirdos. There’s a guy that freaks me the hell out; he lurks around with this pitted look in his eye, like he’s seen some shit, both inside the Walls and outside. He’s so angry; he has stories just boiling out of him, and when things get quiet again I see him gripping the hilts of his gear. He clicks them constantly, in these awful rhythms – I swear, Benny, it sounds like gnashing teeth. It drives me insane. I snapped at him one day and asked him why the fuck he does that before I could get a handle on myself, since we’re not supposed to talk back to our superiors. But he just looked me dead in the eye and said it stops his hands from shaking. He wasn’t even ashamed. It’s just a part of reality for him._ **

**_Petra’s devastated. She had some lofty idea about Survey Corps soldiers being these perfect, noble heroes, but how many people do you know like that? It’s not like choosing to come here is going to turn you into a hero, and like I said there’s people here who didn’t even choose it. I guess I can kinda see where she gets the idea, though; I kinda felt the same way when I was younger. But it’s different where we come from. You get the measure of things pretty fast._ **

**_After breakfast, we spend the morning going over field strategy in our squads. Brandt’s in charge of the east camp recruits and some stragglers from the north camp, and let me tell you: our squad leader’s the scariest lady alive. She’s got these tattoos up her arms and across her chest – you can kinda see the top of whatever it is poking out at the neck of her shirt. She’s got no patience for stupid shit, either; she yelled for five minutes straight at some idiot mouthing off at the back of the group, one of the schmucks from the north camp. “This isn’t a game,” she said. For once, I wasn’t the idiot mouthing off. I know, right. I’m surprised too._ **

**_After lunch we run the course. The training here is a lot more specialized; we learn about working in open terrain, where most of the shit we did in training camp was in forests and urban centers. Which is kind of stupid, now that I really think about it – MPs and the Garrison don’t need to know this stuff to live, not like we do. Anyway, it’s weird working out in the open … gives me a weird feeling. You have to use the Titan to grapple more than half the time, and that’s where shit gets hairy, because it’s not a fixed object, like a tree or a building – it’s moving around, kicking up a fuss. It could grab you or trample you if you’re not careful; Brandt says it’s happened before and it’ll happen again, especially if we don’t pay attention._ **

**_Watching her work is pretty great, though. You can tell she’s been at it a long time; she moves like she’s not even thinking about it anymore. She says she was no prodigy, so us being useless right now doesn’t matter, it’s no excuse; she just worked hard and learned to pay attention, so we’ll be fine if we work hard and pay attention. That’s a thing with her: pay attention, scrubs. Pay attention. Snaps her fingers in your face. Are you paying attention? Wil hates it; you can practically see steam coming out of her ears when Brandt gets in her face._ **

**_You’d think after a day of shit dinner would be quiet, but it’s even louder than breakfast. That’s when the casks come out – shit piss beer that smells like the gutters, but everyone here drinks it just fine._ **

**_The food here … it’s something else. So, fine -- I’ll tell you what happened, even though you’ll probably laugh at your idiot big brother for being such a wet piece of shit paper about it. The food here is better than anything you’ve ever eaten in your life. Like I said up top, they have their own goats and chickens, so every so often there’s milk and cheese and eggs with the meals. Brandt says it’s to keep us strong, since we’re the most active of all the branches – we got the most to do, we need the most sustenance if we’re not gonna starve. I know a thing about starving, and I’d be lying if I said that the food you get as a soldier wasn’t part of the draw. I’m sick of being hungry all the time. But I had no idea it’d be like this._ **

**_The first plate they gave me, with these … these fucking things, just smelling like heaven. I don’t believe in that shit, but I almost did smelling those eggs. And real cheese – it just … it tastes like you wouldn’t believe. Like creamy and sharp at the same time. I don’t even know how to describe it right. And there was so much – Axel made some shithead comment about how I’d finally put some meat on my scrawny bones, but I didn’t even really hear him – I was just stuffing my idiot face with the best food I ever had in my life. (Don’t tell Ma …)_ **

**_By the end of the first day, I was feeling it. I was feeling like SHIT. My stomach was in fucking knots. It was like a solid block of food clanking around in there. But I didn’t put it together and had a big dinner just like I had at breakfast, and that’s when it happened – I felt it crawling up the back of my throat, and I had to run the hell out of the mess hall and puke my guts out in the dirt._ **

**_So all that great food wasted. I was so mad. I’m just thinking about how if I had been a little less stupid about stuffing my face, it wouldn’t have been such a waste – and what business do I have being wasteful and stupid with this food when you and everyone … I mean, you know. I was so incredibly pissed. So I’m sorry – I’ll be less of an idiot about it next time._ **

**_You know who was the one who came out with me? Oskar. Rubbed my back until I quit puking. Gave it a few thumps, like he’s trying to help me get it all up. Of course Petra was in floods when she heard, ‘cause she’d gone back to her barracks early. Oskar doesn’t say much, but he’s pretty fucking good at saying the wrong damn thing at the wrong time. Are you sick, what’s wrong, are you okay, do you need to go to the infirmary, on and on. She drives me nuts sometimes._ **

**_Anyway, I’m about done puking, and Oskar’s telling me it’s alright in that weird voice of his, and this other guy comes up; tall, with a rat fink face. Pointy nose and chin. Blond hair in a stupid bun. He’s flashing me this grin, like he knows it all, leaning against the side of the building, asking me if all this fancy fare is too much for my tender sensibilities. I thought it was too bad I was done puking, because I kinda wanted to puke on him, mess up his shiny boots. He’s one of the vets – one of the weird ones. They watch the recruits, and you can’t tell what they’re thinking, but there’s a weird charge to it anyway. Like they’re waiting. Anyway, after giving me shit Oskar kinda gets this cold look on his face, and he’s got such a scary face that it must have worked on Rat Fink because he says that I shouldn’t worry about it -- all the people from the slums get sick like this when they come here at first. Our stomachs aren’t used to rich food._ **

**_Hide this letter. Tell Ma and the rest everything is alright, I’m alright, Petra’s alright. We’re all alright. I hope you’re alright too._ **

**_\--Auruo_ **

****

~

 

 _May 24_ _ th _ _, 848_

_Dear Dad,_

_I was so happy to get your letters! A whole stack of them, with your handwriting all over the front. You know what else? They smelled like the bakery, as if you’d spent the whole day working and then come up to write me letters with your hands caked with flour, smelling like yeast. It made me so homesick I could have cried. How is the everything? How is Mr. Weiss and Bertrand? Is he still being a troublesome apprentice? Try to be patient with him, Dad. Twelve is young to leave home._

_They have bread here, of course, but it’s not as fine as the bread you make. It’s gristly and there are odd lumps, I think because they take whatever is on hand to fill it up and make it whole. Auruo eats it like he eats everything, though; like he’s afraid it’s his last meal. I think I'm on kitchen duty next week. I love my work here, but I miss making bread too. I’ll have to wake earlier, but you know I don’t mind that – I’m up early anyway. I wake an hour before the dawn bell, sometimes._

_But it’s so hot in the south! We’re positively disgusting after a full day of working and training.  I used to think that we trained hard in camp, but here it’s for real. Almost everyone treats the work we do seriously; hardly anyone fools around. As you walk around the grounds on your way to the next task, you see it in the veterans, the way they watch you; grim as undertakers. It’s odd. It drives Auruo absolutely crazy; he mutters and glares at them right back, but most of them aren’t even fazed._

_I know you said that I can be a little isolated with my group of friends, (though when you meet them you’ll understand how easy it is to do) so I’ve been trying to get to know the other recruits, since most of them are more amenable to chatting than the veterans are. I met a really sweet boy in the stables yesterday, actually. I think I must have intruded on his quiet place, because he looked so surprised to see me poking around. I’d gone because today we were assigned our horses, and I wanted a chance to see them in advance. It’s such a peaceful place; you might think the mounts of warriors to be similarly fierce, but they’re really quite gentle. There was a lovely roan that took an instant liking to me. She maneuvered around her stall until she could notch her head over the gate and get close, and I saw a spark of almost human understanding in those eyes._

_The boy didn’t notice me at first because he was murmuring to one of the horses. He’s quite popular with them; the others were jockeying around in their stalls, trying to get close. One even nibbled on his jacket. I had to clear my throat for him to notice me, and he stopped murmuring – I felt badly about that, because when I saw his face I knew I had intruded on his place. I apologized and told him I just want to see the horses, and he eased up a little after that._

_It took a half hour of careful prodding, but he finally admitted his name: Gunther Shulz. He’s not very talkative, but that’s alright; I’m talkative enough for the two of us. His sister came in not long after, and she shot me such a look. I think she’s younger than him, but she’s clearly very protective._

_As I said, we were assigned our horses today. They took us out to the widest field, a mile or so away from headquarters, and brought the horses out sometime later. I saw the lovely roan and she saw me. I was expecting that the squad leaders would be responsible for assigning a horse to a recruit, but instead they just had us stand there, and let the horses pick us. Of course the roan came trotting right up to me, as if to say ‘Here I am! We’re partners now.’ It is truly something else. I named her Primrose, because she has a yellow fleck in her eye._

_I asked Squad Leader Brandt why they let the horses choose us, and she explained that on the battlefield we will be a unit, and it’ll be easier to forge trust when the horse is the one that finds you. They really are intelligent – they have to be, for what they must do._

_There were a few horses that did not seem to be all that happy to be there; they were skittish, whickering nervously. One bay almost refused to participate altogether. Squad Leader Brandt finally told us that they were horses who had lost their riders. It’s not as if they can retire the horses that survive when their riders don’t, since it is so expensive to raise and breed them as they are; instead, they are held for the next wave of recruits, and encouraged to make a new partnership. It was heartbreaking, watching them._

_They were about to lead the bay back to the stables when he caught sight of Auruo – one of the last to be chosen, probably because of his discomfort toward animals. He approached Auruo very slowly, distrustful of the entire affair. I think he remembered choosing his first rider, and I know he remembered losing him, so it’s not so strange to think he might be reticent to choose another. But he came right up to Auruo, and they just looked at each other – one intent, one uncomfortable with the attention. “Go away,” Auruo said, but the horse did not budge. A long silence passed; then, so deliberately that it almost seemed as if the horse had understood Auruo’s words, he leaned down and started chewing on Auruo’s hair!_

_Auruo was appalled, of course. He yelled and tried to push the horse off and made a ridiculous scene about it, but the horse had chosen; in fact, he seemed fairly pleased with his choice. I swear I even saw Squad Leader Brandt smile before she told him to pipe the hell down._

_Our squad leader is very exacting. She has us running drills and scenarios almost every minute of daylight, and she tolerates no nonsense whatsoever; no backtalk, no distractions. This is as deadly serious work as we can do, and we must treat it as such or risk her ire. Before you say anything, Auruo has not landed on her bad side; in fact, I think she likes him. As much as she likes anyone, that is; he’s deadly serious about everything here too. In fact, it’s a little strange – he’s not the friendliest or most effusive person, but he does have a sense of humor. Yet I haven’t heard him laugh since we arrived. He’s obsessed with being perfect. Sometimes I catch him eyeing the course after dinner, when we’re allowed some free time. The fact that most of our maneuvers in an expedition are in open land makes him nervous, more so than the others._

_We were talking about it the other day, in fact; how strange it is that we had hardly any overland instruction while in training. We must rely on only a few months of practicing these tactics in our squads to become familiar with the rhythms of an expedition before we’re expected to take part. Supposedly, our first expedition will be sometime in late July, early August. Neither of us think it’s enough time to become familiar with what’s expected of us, though I’m trying to take a more positive line on it all. They’ve been doing this a long time, haven’t they? Perhaps they can’t justify the time investment for training recruits in these specialized areas while we’re at camp, since most of the recruits will end up going to the Garrison. Auruo wasn’t convinced._

_We'll be fine though! We were in the top ten of our class, remember? He was second out of hundreds, and I was fifth. But still, it’s enough to make you second-guess yourself. They have us practicing in open fields, grappling these dummy logs with a set of large wheels attached, so you can become accustomed to working while grappled to something that’s pitching around the field. If you thought sticking your hook to a tree was bad! By the end of the day, we’re all sore and exhausted. Wil complains bitterly, but she’s careful to keep her voice down so Squad Leader Brandt doesn’t overhear and make her run laps again._

_I miss you, Dad. I’ll write again soon._

_Love,  
Petra_

~

**_6-13, 848_ **

**_Benny,_ **

**_Before you get upset again, yeah -- I know I haven’t been writing as much lately. I said a letter a week before I left, but to be honest with you, by the time me and Martin get back to our shed, I’m dead tired. And I don’t mind getting a letter every day from you, but I’m not gonna be able to match that kinda output. At least not right now, when they’re filling our days with constant training, trying to get us ready for the expedition in July. I’m sorry._ **

**_It’s funny how it works out. I thought when I worked at the mill that nothing could be more exhausting, and then I went to training and thought nothing could be harder than that, and now here I am, half-dead every day. The Survey Corps doesn’t fuck around._ **

**_More strategic stuff in the mornings, so much it’ll make your head spin. You have to pay attention, though; you can’t let a single word of it pass you by. Everything they’re telling you is something someone had to learn the hard way. You can see it when they’re talking to you; it’s why they don’t like it when people mess around. It’s starting to sink in around here what that means._ **

**_There isn’t much of that goofing off anymore, not after this last week. After breakfast they clear out everyone else and bring in some chalkboards, arrange them all over the front of the room. We all sit up a little straighter – there’s always a weird buzz in the air, like we’re all holding our breath. The Squad Leaders lurk in the back, Brandt and the rest. Yesterday her jaw was so tight I could see a muscle twitching there. She nodded at me to look to the front, so I did._ **

**_And then in sweeps Squad Leader Hange Zoe. So, I guess the first thing you need to know about this person is that she is certifiably crazy. She’s obsessed with Titans. Completely obsessed. You hear people talking about all this weird shit she’s done with them, and while I’m pretty sure most of it is rumor, you can’t really deny that she’s too fixated. She doesn’t hate them, not like everyone else seems to; when she talks about them, it’s with this gleam in her eye. Fascination, or something. You can hate something and be interested in it, I guess. It still gives me the creeps. Like there’s a line, you know?_ **

**_Anyway, she spends every morning talking to us about Titan physiology, which is something we should understand if we’re going to kill them.  She talks tactics too – like when you cut them up you need to be careful not to get blood on you, otherwise it’ll burn you bad. Toward the end of her lectures, she got really quiet and started talking about what we should do in ‘crisis situations’, like if we’ve been grabbed (don’t get grabbed, ‘cause once it’s got you around the arms you’re pretty much a goner), or if we’ve been cornered on the ground (dive between the legs, run serpentine until you can find something to grapple. If your gear is busted, signal for help and try to hide). The way she said it though, seems like ‘hide’ is not a successful strategy. Like she’s telling us just so we have something to do even though we’d be about to die._ **

**_The last thing she told us was that if we see someone get eaten, do NOT try to cut them out of the Titan’s gut. Once they go past the teeth, they are done – that’s how you have to think about it. I guess once someone hits a Titan’s gut they boil alive fast, and it’s not a pretty sight when you drag them out. In the time it’ll take you to take the Titan down, they will be long gone. Not to mention, you’ll get badly burned when all that scalding crap gets all over you. She told us about a guy whose girlfriend was eaten whole, and he tried to cut her out. He ended up charred like a piece of meat when all that shit came rushing out, including her boiled body. He was in the infirmary for days – they had to string up a tent around him, since even the dust in the air hurt burned up skin so bad he’d scream blood fucking murder. And he died not long after that._ **

**_Petra didn’t say a word for the rest of the afternoon. She went through field practice with this horrible look on her face, wide-eyed and sick. Nothing really helps. They never said a word of this shit to us when we were in basic training. We spent three years mulching ourselves in preparation for this place, and now that we’re here we find out they didn’t even give us half of what we needed to know. They were training Garrison soldiers and MP hopefuls, and keeping the details quiet for the idiots who wanted to get rid of the Titans. I see some of the other recruits, too; they look sick, but it’s different for them. They feel tricked. Commander Smith won them over with this pretty speech about making a difference and fighting for humanity, and they think ‘yeah! I can do that! I’ve been training all this time!’ And then we get the real shit only after we’ve signed over our lives and gotten our papers processed._ **

**_We were tricked too, but we were always going to be tricked. We wouldn’t have chosen anything else if we had known. It’s not so far away, anymore; the end of July is coming right up. Just a few more weeks of training, and everyone knows that’s not enough. Now the recruits are quiet too, just like the vets. Dinner’s just the sound of scraping forks on plates, low voices. A dark-haired girl with freckles dropped her cup the other day, and it shattered around her feet. It’s normal, right? A normal thing. But she started crying so hard one of the Squad Leaders had to take her to the infirmary._ **

**_You sure you still want to hear this shit?_ **

**_\--Auruo_ **

****

****

**_6-20, 848_ **

**_Benny,_ **

**_Right, fine. You want to hear this shit. Don’t break your pencils writing so hard, they don’t grow on trees._ **

**_And you know what else, you little shit? Stop asking all these pointed little questions about me and Petra. You think I don’t know what you’re doing, you fucking brat? Trying to distract me with a happy topic and get the truth all at once, right? Geez. I don’t know where you got this idea that we’re ~~in love~~   ~~together~~  – that we’re a thing, or whatever, but –-_ **

**_Alright, fine. We’re … something. Happy? I swear to God, if you tell Ma I’ll never write you another letter again. Well –I would, but – just don’t fucking do it, alright? I don’t know why it’s so important for you to know, anyway._ **

**_\--Auruo_ **

****

****

**_6-21, 848_ **

**_Benny,_ **

**_And try not to be so smug, maybe?! Fucking hell._ **

**_\--Auruo_ **

**_  
P.S – you got my pay, right? I sent all I could._ **

~

 

 _June 21_ _ st _ _, 848_

_Dear Dad,_

_I’m sorry I’m not writing as regularly, I really am. If it were up to me, I would write you five letters a day instead of one every few weeks, but there simply isn’t enough time. And with what little free time we do get, most of us just go back to our barracks and go to sleep, sometimes right after dinner. The other day they woke us in the middle of the skeleton shift so we could do some training with our horses in the dark. Squad Leader Brandt said it was an essential trust exercise, and I did feel closer to Primrose after. She’s the nicest horse in the whole branch – everyone likes her._

_Auruo, on the other hand, doesn’t like or trust his horse whatsoever. He knew it was inevitable he’d have a horse, but I think he figured he’d be given one like you expect in the Survey Corps. A disciplined creature, serious. We all heard how special the horses are. He christened his horse Stupid in a pique of temper after it took another chunk out of his hair. I was horrified, but of course now the horse refuses to answer to anything but Stupid; they’re both horrifically stubborn like that._

_Martin got a letter from his father yesterday; his sister was hurt while working on their farm. Her right arm was caught in some farming equipment and horribly mangled, and they had to amputate it to the elbow. She was a lovely violinist, he tells us, and now she will never play again. He’s despondent. He wants to go home and take care of her, but of course he can’t. None of us can go home._

_I'm sick for him. For both of them._

_Auruo doesn’t let him out of his sight. Yesterday a few people from the north camp were snickering about him -- making fun of him for moping. Moping! They didn't know why he was upset, it's not as if he was advertising it. Maybe it’s because everyone is wound a little tight right now, trying to think of anything else, but that’s no excuse to be so heartless! We’ve been sending his sister letters and little pictures and things to cheer her up. You don’t have to send her anything, but keep her in your prayers. She’s only eleven._

_All my love,  
Petra_

~

 

**_7-2, 848_ **

**_Benny,_ **

**_You tell Christophe if he ever does something like that again, I’ll kick his stupid bony ass over the Wall. I fucking mean it. I have furlough after our first expedition._ **

**_You wanna know something stupid? I’ve been daydreaming a lot lately about being home. Giving you goddamn brats what for when you make trouble. Helping Ma with the dinner or whatever other crap she needs done around the house. Even the fucking mill. Isn’t that ridiculous? I’m a soldier and I’ve wanted to be a soldier my whole life, and now that I’m a soldier I’m going to pieces over it._ **

**_Benny, I told you I know what you’re doing with this Petra stuff, but … look, it’s not exactly stress relief to think about it, okay? I don’t really know how to explain this. If we were living at home it definitely would be, because we’d only have to think about civilian shit. Money, where we’d live. I could probably ask her to marry me or something, and it would be normal. It’d take me awhile because I’m a coward, but I’d do it. It’s not like that here. There are regulations against fraternization, and if you get caught fucking around you get your pay docked. That’s what happens to anyone when they break the rules; they get their pay docked. I can't even think about it._ **

**_Not only that, but … before we left, we talked about how it’d be okay here because we’d have each other’s backs. That kind of stupid thing. But now that I’m staring this expedition in the face, I’m not so sure anymore. I keep thinking about that story Hange told us all, ‘bout the idiot who cut his girl out of a Titan and burned to death. He didn’t even manage to save her. They were both dead as fucking doorknobs._ **

**_And the problem is, if she was in trouble, I would do something stupid like that. I know I would. I’ve done it before – I get mad or scared and I just – I’m not even making choices anymore, I’m just doing. My hands are making the choices.  And it wouldn’t help. This isn’t some alley shithead bully, these are Titans. And they’re bigger and stronger than us._ **

**_I don’t know. I’m not myself anymore. I can’t tell her this stuff, how freaked out I am. She’d just be nice about it, say something so good and nice it’d make my chest hurt. She’d tell me that she’ll have my back, that she waited to join with me because she wanted to look out for me. How am I supposed to tell her that’s not encouraging anymore? It scares me shitless._ **

**_\--Auruo_ **

****

**_7-11, 848_ **

**_Benny,_ **

**_I’m sorry about that last letter. That’s not stuff you need to hear from me. It’s hard to think of what to talk about aside from what’s going on in my head, though. Everyone is kind of floating around, quiet and distracted. We wake up, we eat, we train, we eat, we train, we eat, we go to sleep. Things are fuzzing at the edges. People snap at each other, say shitty things because they’re not paying attention. Yesterday I told Axel he was useless, and he looked at me like I’d stabbed him in the gut. I wasn’t even – god, how shitty is that? I wasn’t even thinking; I was just talking because lately it’s better than thinking, you know? He dropped one of his blades on the course and nearly cut himself doing it, and I said he was useless like it was obvious, like I was commenting on the weather._ **

**_I said I was sorry, and I was – more than he knows. He was fine with it, since he always brushes stuff like that off. I didn’t try to explain why I’d said it, though. Maybe I should have._ **

**_It’s winding up before the expedition, and you can really feel it now. The vets all have this glazed look in their eye. The Squad Leaders have hairtrigger tempers; Brandt yelled at a girl for almost ten minutes for her shallow cuts on the dummy – told her that if it had been a real Titan, she’d be a smear on the ground by now. Wormsmeat. Useless. And the girl just stood there and took it._ **

**_You want to know what’s really freaked me out? I haven’t seen Levi once, not since that first night. I see Hange all the time, and the other Squad Leaders – Zakarius, Brandt, blah blah. But not Levi. Humanity’s Strongest doesn’t have any time for his comrades, apparently. I was a stupid kid about it. I thought we’d actually be able to learn from this guy, but I don’t think he cares about anyone here. I heard he was a thug from the Capital, and I guess that makes sense. He’s one of the ones they brought here without a choice. Why would he care?_** **_I don’t give a shit about him._**

**_I’ve started practicing after dinner too, during our free hours before curfew. I don’t eat much lately – my stomach just churns at it all, so I don’t even have to wait long until I hit the course. Been practicing everything I know, trying to think of ways something can go wrong, and how I’d handle it if it did. Petra practices with me; partly because the weird atmosphere makes her more anxious than usual, and it’s nice to focus on something else other than how freaked out you are. We came up with two combined maneuvers so far._ **

**_After, we go back to her barracks. Wil’s always off doing other shit. I know you think the whole institution is disgusting, but since we’re being honest about shit, it’s nice. It’s really nice. That’s all I can say._ **

**_\--Auruo_ **

****

~

 

 _July 19_ _ th _ _, 848_

_Dad,_

_For the last time, please stop asking me about Gunther. We’re not an “item” and we won’t become one either. I talked to him one time in the stables, and I’ve barely seen him since – just on the edge of the training group. While we WORK. This may come as a surprise, but I’m not here to find a husband. I can think of nothing I care less about right now. So why is it so important to you?_

_Petra_

_July 20_ _ th _ _, 848_

_Dear Dad,_

_I’m sorry for the tone of my last letter. ~~I’ve been so stressed lately.~~_

_Everyone is terrified about the expedition. Wil hardly lets go of me these days; she’s always grabbing my hand or undoing my hair so she can braid it again. She says it calms her down, but I can feel her fingers shaking while she does it. Axel hardly says a word; Oskar’s been the one speaking up for him. Martin practices his violin, composing furiously – his music has always been very tender and active, but lately it’s taken a darker turn, wild and grim, snarling sharp things. It seems like many years ago since he played folk songs for the entire Survey Corps, since they all spun around the room, dancing and laughing. I wonder now if it was an act, or something they did desperately, so they could forget. I think it might have been._

_Every night, Axel and Wil disappear; I don’t see her again until the curfew bell, when she slips back inside our little barracks. I don’t ask her what she’s doing; I suppose it’s obvious. We all take comfort where we can, right?_

_I believe in what I’m doing, even if I’m scared. I need you to know that. I believe that with my life or death I will help humanity be rid of the Titans. Someday in your lifetime, you’re going to be able to leave the Walls – and you’ll see all these ruined villages and bones, but the Titans will be gone. And maybe you and a handful of other people will build up one of those ruined villages, or clear the rubble and start over. And you’ll be free to live in a place without Walls or Titans. I will be there, too._

_All my love,  
Petra_

_P.S – Please don’t forget to put out a bowl of milk for Calliope. She’s expecting kittens._

~

 

**_7-23, 848_ **

**_Hey Benny,_ **

**_So we’re leaving for the expedition tomorrow morning. Commander Smith says we’re going to be setting up an outpost on this one, which sounds pretty boring, actually. Just a walk along the river. Easy stuff. We’ll be on an established path too, and Levi’s coming with. So nothing bad is going to happen._ **

**_I just want you to know that –_ **

**_Just tell Ma not to worry. Her worrying isn’t going to help. Nothing’s going to happen anyway. All that shit in those other letters, well – you know how I get. Melodramatic. I’ve been working hard and I have my Squad Leader’s approval, and I wasn’t made 2_ ** **_ nd _ ** **_in the whole class for nothing, you know. I’m good at this shit, really good._ **

**_So none of you should worry. By the time you get this letter it’ll have all happened anyway, so no point, right?_ **

**_The day before expeditions we have nothing but meals scheduled. No chores, no training. We get a whole day of free time. People use it to train or do chores anyway, because what the hell else are you going to do? I thought I would write you a long, long letter, since that’s what you asked for. But I can’t think of anything to say. I’ve been sitting here for almost three hours – I even started trying to make up a story you could tell the brats, but I’m shit at it. More so than usual._ **

**_It’ll have to be a short one, then. I’m sorry for that. I wish I was smarter. Better at these things._ **

**_I’ve been thinking about the day we found the birds’ nest.  Do you remember? You were pretty young, still, and Christophe was only a baby. You and me and Petra went exploring – you wanted to come along because you saw me and Petra leaving every Sunday to goof around, and I think it seemed very mysterious to you. Also I think you might have been jealous. Little brat._ **

**_So we’re tromping around outside Rose, in that little village that used to be right outside before Maria fell, and we found a birds’ nest. It had been knocked out of the tree, probably by a cat or something, and the babies were gone. But you knew enough about birds to ask that we try and find the others, so we spent the whole day looking for the baby birds. You were sitting on my shoulders, and you kept yanking my hair like you’d pull a horse’s reins. This way, 'Ruo. Yelling in my ear. You were barely three and already talking like a real person, all grown up and determined._ **

**_Petra took your quest so seriously. She’s always doing that stuff with kids. I think one of the reasons she liked hanging out with me at first was because I have a big family, and she’s always wanted one – brothers and sisters to love. That makes her sound calculating, doesn’t it? But I don’t think it’s like that for her. It wasn’t the whole reason she wanted to be around; it was just something nice to enjoy. You know it’s just her and her dad. So hanging out in our house, it was like being a part of it._ **

**_Anyway, we looked all day for those stupid baby birds. I thought they must have been eaten by a mouser or something, but Petra wouldn’t hear of it, and you wouldn’t either. You were going to find the babies and take them home and feed them until they grew up and could go out on their own. Never mind that they were dead, or that Ma wouldn’t tolerate birds in her house._ **

**_But sunset crept up on us, and we had to go home. And you started crying hysterically because the baby birds were going to be out all night in the cold, but Petra took your hand and got down to your level, and she told you in that way of hers that they weren’t dead – that instead they must have grown too big for the nest, and it was time for them to fly away. And that’s what happens to everything – one day they get too big for the place they grew up, and they have to fly away. It’s okay, Benny. Don’t cry._ **

**_And you stopped crying, and you nodded very seriously. Wiped your nose with your hand, and then wiped your hand on your pants. Gave that hiccupy snuffle kids do after they cry really hard. But you insisted we go back and put the nest back in the tree, so if the birds needed to come home they would have someplace to go. So we found the nest and fixed it up best as we could, and I climbed up and put it back for them._ **

**_I still think about that nest sometimes, and those birds. I wonder if they ever did come back. They must have. I think about how you knew even then that everything needs a place to come back to – even if you leave. Especially if you leave. I didn’t know that for a long time._ **

**_You’re a good kid, Benoit.  I’ll see you soon._ **

**_\--Auruo_ **

 


	29. Chapter 29

On the perimeter of headquarters, Petra lay on her back and watched the darkening sky. Faint red tinged the horizon, and already stars began to decorate the expanse, distant as memory. Wil flopped carelessly at her side; every now and then she’d jab her toes into Petra’s leg, jostling her out of her preoccupation. It was good that Wil was here, she thought faintly; if not, she’d have had to spend this last, anxious day before the expedition alone.

She hadn’t seen Auruo once today. Headquarters was expansive but not by such a degree that she should be unable to locate such a distinct presence. And she’d searched everywhere. The shed barracks he shared with Martin was disconcertingly empty – the only indication he’d been there at all was a pile of scattered paper across his bunk, pencil tossed aside. He hadn’t shown up for meals, he hadn’t been in the stables. She supposed it was possible he was lurking in the men’s shower, lost in thought under an icy stream of water, but she didn’t have the courage to check herself, just in case he wasn’t.

It might not have bothered her if he hadn’t spent the last two months slowly drawing away, enclosing himself in unresponsive silence. She couldn’t put her finger on it at first; she thought it was his usual inability to express emotional truth, which she knew how to handle. But this was different; this was deeper. She would catch him looking at her sometimes, his features drawn, brows knitted over troubled eyed, and a thrill of premonition would steal through her.

It wasn’t just Auruo. Headquarters itself was thrumming with anxiety; felt in each whispered conversation between veterans, or the buzzing quiet of the mess hall during mealtimes. The Squad Leaders would glance over in the recruits’ direction every now and then, looking almost like Auruo did – expectant and bleak. Only the healers zipped about with grim purpose, turning sheets of cloth into spare bandages, preparing tinctures and salves. Petra tried not to think about why it would be necessary.

She felt Wil’s toe poke her calf again. “Lamb.”

“Hm?”

“You’re a million miles away.” Wil’s deep eyes were wide, almost black in the fading light.

“I’m … thinking about tomorrow.”

“Well, stop that.”

It didn’t really surprise her that Wil wasn’t in the mood for fearful speculation. “Alright.”

“I mean it. Cut that shit out right now.”

“I am!” Petra pushed back at Wil’s insistent foot, hard enough that she sprawled a little.

But she sat right up again, a grin of challenge spreading across her features. Petra tried not to notice its anxious edge. “Good,” she said. “Take off your boots.”

Petra didn't have the energy for a debate so she obeyed, easing the fine leather boots off her feet and setting them neatly aside. She buried her toes in the warm dirt, wiggling them every few moments. “It’s been ages since I did something like this,” she murmured.

“I know! Nice, right?”

Before she could reply, she felt something light skitter across the top of her foot, and a light shriek erupted from her lips before she could stifle it.

“What?!”

Petra curled upright, holding her feet above the grass. “A bug!”

“Are you telling me you’re scared of bugs now?!”

“No! It’s just – it tickles.”

“Uh huh. You’re full of crap.”

“I am not!”

“Are too.”

“How do you think you’d like it?” She leaned close and made her fingers skitter over the top of Wil’s foot like a bug’s legs, twitchy and small. And to her satisfaction, Wil let out an indignant yelp so loud the horses stirred in the stables.

“Augh! Stop!” Wil flailed, grabbing Petra’s wrists. “What evil hath possessed you? Begone, foul spirit!” They squabbled before Wil managed to disentangle herself, shoving Petra’s hands away. “Now stop that.”

“What?”

“You’re thinking about it.”

“I’m not!" 

“Yeah, you are! I see it on your face. You’re an open book, lamb. Might want to work on that.”

Petra tucked her legs beneath her and plucked a long stem of grass by her ankle, twisting it between her fingers. She knew how Wil was about these matters, yet she persisted in her routine – the flippant jokester, wry confidant.  “I’m sorry,” she said, almost a whisper.

At first, Wil said nothing, a deep wrinkle forming between her brows, but before long she huffed and flung herself backward, cradling her head and looking up at the sunset-streaked sky. “You always do this kind of thing,” she said, lip curling. “I want to get you to step outside of it for a minute.”

“I’m trying.”

“Well, try a little harder. It takes practice, you know.”

Petra craned back, fond and annoyed in equal measure. “It’s not like you’re an expert. Remember before the induction ceremony?”

“Yeah, well … what can I say? The Survey Corps has made a real, honest to God adult out of me. Look at me being responsible … waking up when I’m supposed to … doing my chores without talking back. Fighting for  _humanity_.” She heaved a brave sigh. “God, I’m going to sound like you and Boss soon. All idealistic and shit. Gross.”

“I think we’re a way off from that, still.”

“Thank god. You know, yesterday after our course run Brandt told me I had done good work.  _Good work?!_ What’s next, carrying Commander Eyebrows’ papers and spitshining his boots? Save me, lamb. Save me from myself.”

“Wil!” Petra hissed, delighted and scandalized. “Don’t talk like that about our superior!”

“Why the fuck not?! Have you seen his eyebrows?! They’re practically sentient. They’ve overridden his brain. We’re all taking orders from a pair of eyebrows attached to the most obnoxiously handsome person alive.”

“You’re just full of compliments today.”

“Don’t give me that! Come on. Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed the live creatures attached to this guy’s face.”

Petra lifted her chin. “I think they make him look dignified.”

“That’s not even close to being the right word.”

“Thoughtful maybe?”

“They make him look like a villain. Too bad he doesn’t have a mustache he can twirl, then it’d really complete the picture.”

That did it; she brought her hands to her mouth to stifle a wild bout of giggles, but to no avail. Soon, they were both laughing; she could feel the dark speculation tugging at the corners of the moment, but instead she gripped Wil’s wrist and squeezed it tightly. This was good, she thought. It would have to see her through.

“You’re terrible,” she said instead.

“Thank god.” Wil flashed her jackal’s grin. “I still got it.”

They sat in silence for a long while, listening to the muted conversation of their comrades as they cut through the main courtyard to their barracks. It lulled, buzzing almost beneath the edge of hearing, stark and grim. Someone whistled tunelessly through their teeth. Beneath it all, she heard a faint metallic clacking, moving like a ghost into the stables.

“We should get back,” Petra said slowly, untucking her legs and slipping back into her boots.

But Wil’s hand shot out to clutch her knee, and she pushed Petra back with an insistent finger. “Axel and the others were going to meet up here.”

“Were they? Even … ?”

“Why do you think they aren’t here right now? God, lamb; your boyfriend’s been giving me ulcers lately.”

Petra looked away, tracing small shapes in the dirt. “He’s probably giving himself ulcers.”

“You fucking said it. I’ve never seen him like this before. Like he’s kind of a grump, right? Cranky piece of shit. Now he hardly says anything. He – “ She trailed off, looking stricken. “You … nothing happened, did it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like … between you?”

She shrugged. “Not that I know of.”

“Hm … I mean, I know we’re all nervous about this expedition shit. And … maybe Martin – well, with his sister. Maybe that’s it. That’s probably it.”

Wil had staunchly refused to mention anything about the expedition and her clear nervousness, but that she attempted to maneuver around her own anxieties in the interest of comfort was such a sweet realization that Petra reached for her hand again, squeezing her solid fingers tightly and smiling a little. “You’re probably right.” She wasn’t completely convinced, and nothing but some frank discussion with Auruo would resolve her own worry, but such selfless concern should be returned, no matter what.

“Ah, ladies. Are we interrupting something?”  She turned just in time to see Axel plop down beside Wil, with Oskar trailing in his wake. He flashed them a roguish troublemaker’s grin, propping himself on his forearms, the very posture of careless, casual interest. But Petra saw a glint of wide, animal fear in his eyes, and heard the way his voice strained on the charming tone, as if today it required more effort than it ever had before.

She hoped for a moment Auruo and Martin would be just behind, but the moment lengthened and no one appeared. It made sense, she coached herself. No use in getting disappointed. Yet she was heartsore, increasingly bereft with each passing minute.

“Ah, Axel. Do I detect a note of jealousy?”

“Me? Jealous? I hardly know the meaning of the word.”

Wil snorted. “That’s a good one. Where’s Martin and Boss?”

Only then did Axel’s smile completely fade; he heaved a long sigh, flopping back into the grass. “I don’t know.”

“You were supposed to find them!”

Petra watched the two of them bicker, hugging her knees to her chest. They oriented toward each other – Wil leaning on her right hip, Axel craning toward her with a gentle smile – two celestial bodies caught in each other’s orbit. Much had changed since three years ago, where their back and forth had been colored by swallowed hurt and misunderstanding; now it rolled easily along, a natural give and take.

With a pang, Petra thought how she and Auruo had carried on similarly before they’d come here. Their own conversation had once been as easy as breathing, lapsing from teasing to bickering to laughing about some shared delight, for as long as they had known each other. He was reticent, sure, and inarticulate, and sometimes so coarse it drove her to distraction, not to mention there had been a long stretch of time where their unacknowledged feelings for each other had complicated everything, but beneath it all they had still been able to talk to each other.

She missed that. She missed  _him_. They were going on their first expedition tomorrow, riding into the jaws of almost certain death, and she couldn’t stand the thought of doing so without her best friend, the boy she loved.  _We could look out for each other_ , she had said all those years ago, and she’d gripped his cut palm with hers to seal this promise. Had he forgotten it before they’d even taken a step outside?

It would have been perfect if Axel’s plan had come to pass, if Martin and Auruo had joined their vigil in the field, watching the stars slowly come out. They were better as a group, with each other’s strengths covering for their weaknesses; they were better when they could work as a team, with many years of training augmenting their bond.  _She_  was better with people to count on, and with people to count on her. With them at her back and Auruo at her side she felt like she could have faced whatever lay in store for them tomorrow. But that was the kind of thing that happened in stories, and didn’t account for the troubles of reality; sometimes, no matter how much you cared for someone, it didn’t help. Some things were too big for it.

Petra got to her feet, brushing grass and dirt off her rear. “I’m going to head back,” she said quietly. “I’m pretty tired.”

She knew that Wil wasn’t fooled, but to her everlasting credit she allowed this without argument. “Alright, lamb. See you later. Probably much later. You know.”

“I know.” A faint smile.

She bid the rest good evening with a small wave and cut across the field and back into headquarters, pulling the starchy sleeve of her new jacket. She missed the frayed edge of her trainee jacket, the way the fabric had softened through wear and tear and many washes. Her mother used to like to say that it was from love, and a worn dress or pair of pants had history to them, feeling and magic. But this jacket had none of that; she scraped her thumb against the stiff sleeve and swallowed the rise of thickness in her throat. There were a lot of little comforts missing in this place.

It wasn’t yet curfew, but most of the older soldiers had already seemed to have returned to their barracks, going by the empty state of the courtyard and stables. Only the recruits remained; wandering, seeking out safe corners, floating from one end of the compound to the other in preoccupied little groups, strung together by terse whispering. Halfway back, she even saw Gunther and his sister sitting by the outer fence; he looked peaky and sick, and she gripped one of his massive shoulders, speaking in a low, even voice. Neither saw her as she passed. She might have called out a greeting any other day, but tonight she couldn’t force the words past her throat.

She was so preoccupied that at first she didn’t notice the figure huddled in front of her shed barracks, arms crossed on their knees, head perched atop. But as she drew closer, details emerged; a familiar frame, familiar ashy-blond hair in familiar disarray – even the pitted expression he wore was familiar, from the day his mother had given birth to Christophe, and the day Wall Maria had fallen. She rushed forward.

“Auruo?”

He lifted his head, blinking in recognition. “Oh, ah -- hey.”

She gaped at him. “Where have you been all day?”

He got awkwardly to his feet, shoulders hitching. “I, uh – wrote Benoit a letter. Then I tried to train, but Brandt told me to get the hell off the course, ‘cause it’s off limits the day before. We’re not supposed to tire ourselves out, I guess. So I …” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck, and even in the low light she could see faint color rise on his cheeks. “So I looked for you. But I couldn’t find you, so I thought I’d wait here for you to come back. I figured that’d be better than missing each other the whole day.”

Tears prickled at her eyes. This whole time she’d thought that Auruo was pulling away, but he’d been waiting here for her, in a place he knew they’d meet.

“Why’re you crying?!”

She wiped hastily at her eyes and reached for his hand. “I thought I wouldn’t get a chance to see you before … before tomorrow. And –“

“Well, I didn’t think you’d be out all day,” he muttered uncomfortably, but his fingers locked slowly with hers. “I thought you’d come back early, so you’d be rested tomorrow.”

“I was going to! But I thought  _you’d_  be wandering around all day, trying to take your mind off things, so I … well, you know.”

She felt a strange, unconnected impulse to laugh, and she swallowed it before he got the wrong idea. She’d worried for nothing. Galvanized by this realization, she cast a long look around, searching for any sign of prying eyes before unlatching the door and quickly tugging him inside. He followed without protest, his eyes widening. She felt his hand tremble against hers.

Belatedly, it occurred to her that this was the first time they’d been really alone since the night before the enlistment ceremony. They’d managed to scrape a few brief stretches here and there – desperate kisses in closets, brushing fingers on the course, nudging each other beneath the mess hall tables, and a few times she’d spirited him back to her barracks with less pure interaction in mind. But the former were brief and unsatisfying, and the latter was almost always interrupted by Wil or a patrolling officer or the curfew bell.  A shiver of anticipation chased down her spine, colored by her fear of tomorrow, of what lay beyond the Walls.

“What are you --?”

“ _Shh_. Let me light the lamp.”

“ _Shh_  yourself,” he muttered with some of his old peevish fire, and she smiled despite herself. “Could you leave it off?”

She turned to face him; in the darkness, she could only just make out the familiar contours of his features, the line of his nose and jaw, his set mouth. “Why?”

His fingers twitched again. “If someone barges in here …”

Her heart gave an unsteady lurch, anticipation thrilling in her hands, her swooping belly.  “Are we going to be doing anything, Auruo?”

 “I dunno … me being in here at all isn’t very ‘beyond reproach’, is it.”

“Do you want to go?”

“ … No. I – I don’t.” He huffed. “Geez, I sat out all day in the heat dying of thirst and exhaustion so I could see you, I’m not about to go back now.”

“You didn’t get any water today?!”

“Well … Martin brought me a couple canteens. And some dinner.”

“You could have just waited inside.”

“Barging into someone else’s room without being asked, nice. Yeah, I’d totally do something like that.”

“Well, I did.”

“ _You_?!”

“I thought you might be lurking in your room or something!”

“I can’t believe  _you’d_  do some rude shit like that! Petra Ral, paragon of manners, lousy snoop.” She could hear the teasing grin in his voice and it was the same to her as it had been all those years ago, before they’d signed their lives away; almost the same as when they’d been children, before their ideals had taken terrifying dimension. She pushed him onto her bed a little rougher than she’d meant to, and he sprawled back with a low  _oof._ He was about to protest when she clambered in after him, stretching out above, and the words died in his throat; she could see his eyes widen, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Petra --?”

_“Shh.”_

She’d read her fair share of serials over the years, novellas she picked up for five marks apiece, some printed so hastily that the ink smeared against the opposite pages and made them stick together. She’d sustained herself on these stories, delighted by the romance, the depth of desire between lovers, the misunderstandings that always fell away in time for the happy ending. But in all her years as an avid reader of these diversions, she’d never once seen the author tackle how truly ridiculous it was to disrobe and arrange your body on a bed with another person (to say nothing of a closet). The characters always seemed to fall into place perfectly, ready for whatever passionate undertakings might occur to them. The reality was somewhat different; elbows and knees inevitably found tender areas, teeth bumped together, and there was no graceful way at all to take off a pair of pants, let alone the myriad belts and straps that comprised their uniforms.

As she settled on Auruo’s lap and eased his jacket off his shoulders, she thought she might send a highly critical letter to her favorite author. There was something strangely charming about how awkward it all was; how the belts tangled and their limbs crashed, the small sounds one made when an unexpected finger found flesh, trailing shivering fire. He reached for the strap across her chest, shifting beneath her legs, and she thought that this was preferable to the soulless ease of artifice. It was real –  unsteady and uncertain and gloriously real.

“Ow!”

_“Shh!”_

“Stop shushing me, nag! You elbowed me in the nose.”

Of course she had. She craned forward and gently pressed her lips to the tip, lingering only a moment. “Better?”

“Oh, yeah. Miraculously cured.”

Successfully rid of their boots, jackets, and belts, they eased together – her knees pressing against his hips, skimming his face with trembling fingers, pushing back his hair to twine her arms around his neck. But he did not touch; his hands hovered just above her thighs, and she saw him swallow again.

“What is it?”

“ … Where can I --?”

A shiver ran through him, nearly pitching her off his lap, and she realized again that he wanted this, that he must have craved this closeness as much as she had, if not more. She almost leaned down to kiss him again, though this time it would have burned, consumed to its natural end. “Anywhere you want.”

After another moment of hesitation, he slowly settled his hands on her thighs, so lightly that she could only just feel the heat from his palms.

“Not so bad, right?”

“D-don’t be a twit.”

“You’re the twit,” she said in a fair approximation of his voice.

He said nothing. His hands trembled, tightening before he drew them away and wrapped his arms around her waist instead, shifting her closer to bury his face against her neck. An unsteady breath escaped him, warming her skin until a wave of chills chased up her back. His thick hair tickled her cheek. At first she was tempted to think that this embrace was motivated only by desire, but there was an edge in the way he held her close, palms splayed flat against her back, between her shoulder blades. It was need and fear, mingled so tightly that it would be impossible to separate them.

“Auruo …” She hesitated, biting her lip. A thousand questions crowded her tongue, jockeying for position; she thought of the last two months watching him grow more and more remote, his eyes hooded by shadow and worry, and the same worry filled her. “Are you … alright?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve been …” Silence; she struggled for the right words. “You hardly talk to anyone anymore … you hardly talk to me.”

He was quiet; she could no longer sense the heat of his tight exhales.

There was nothing for it; she’d just have to blurt it out and get it over with. Two months of worry and fear and the knowledge of what waited for them tomorrow gnawed at the last of her reserves, and she shifted away, her gaze cast down. “Are you scared? About … about tomorrow?”

She thought he would answer in typical Auruo fashion – with some sarcastic comment, or perhaps he’d turn the question back on her because he knew she was more comfortable in admitting these sorts of things – but to her surprise and alarm his arms tightened around her waist, and he nuzzled so close that she could feel his eyelashes brush her skin when his eyes squeezed shut.

 _“Yes,”_  he whispered.

“You’re --?!”

“Why’re you surprised?! Of course I am. I’m – god, Petra. I’m in fuckin’ knots over this shit. Everyone acting all weird and only getting to practice the shit we’ll need to know on the field for two months before they throw us out there and tell us to do our best not to get fuckin’ splattered, and – and you in the same boat as me, you and Martin and everyone, just – of course I’m fuckin’ scared, Petra. I –“

“Shh, Auruo – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …” She tucked back an errant curl, skimming his cheek with her thumb. “I am too.”

“What’s a dummy compared to a Titan?” he said, brows furrowing beneath her fingers. “Huh? What are they playing at? All this shit, thinking I was any good at it – thinking that I was finally good at something, and it’s something only a handful of people can manage to do without dying, but it’s – it’s not going to be anything like training. I was an  _idiot_.  We can’t even train today and we didn’t have enough time and it’s just – how does anyone manage this shit?! How does anyone manage it well enough to --?”

“Auruo, hey, hey. Come on.” She pulled away and framed his anxious face between her hands, palms to cheeks, savoring the heat of them. “They manage it because they aren’t alone. Remember? I said I’d have your back, and you’ll have mine.”

“ _Don’t_ ,” he hissed, pulling away from her hands. “Don’t say that. I can’t --”

She froze, her cheeks burning as if he’d slapped her. Shame and hurt coiled in her belly. For as long as they’d known one another, this promise had been a source of strength for them both, a talisman against fear and doubt; it had been the most solemn vow she’d ever made in her life, and she’d kept to it staunchly, determined to see it done. She would be there for him, no matter what. But here he was, recoiling from the words she tenderly offered, recoiling from what she’d assumed the center between them, the foundation.

He must have seen the hurt of her face because his expression became fraught. “Look, it’s not –“

“You don’t want that anymore?” Her voice sounded very far away. On her palm, the old scar tingled.

“That’s not it!”

“Then what is it?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and she saw him chew on the edge of his tongue so violently that he was liable to break skin. “It’s not … it scares me, okay?” he pleaded. “I don’t want – god, Petra, just think about it in terms of what it actually means for a second. It’s not some cute shit between kids anymore. It’s not you telling me you’re gonna stick with me even though I’m a rotten asshole. You saying  _I’ve got your back_  now means if you see some shit go down, see me in trouble, you’re gonna do something that might get you killed. And I just – I can’t  -- I really can’t, Petra, I can’t think about it, I can’t –“

Hurt faded, replaced by a tenderness so profound that for a moment she couldn’t speak; she could only hold his face again and whisper his name.

“I don’t want to be the reason you die,” he told her desperately. “I – god, this – if it were just me, I’d be scared, but I think I could manage. I dunno. I probably could. But you … you saying this to me, it’s just … I’m gonna be a fuckin’ twisted up wreck. Okay?”

It was testament to his state of mind that each word rang with authenticity – his usual discomfort with honesty had been fully cast aside, and he lay bare before her, the contents of his heart spread out for her inspection. “That was always going to be the case, Auruo.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to be okay with it!”

“Well, turn it around for a minute. Think about how I feel. Knowing that you could and probably will do something stupid because I was hurt or in trouble, and knowing that you could die because of me. I’m not – it hurts me, too. I don’t want you to die either, Auruo! If anything happened to me, I’d want you to live for a long time – teaching new soldiers, watching your brothers grow up, saving the world. Find someone else to -- But if I told you to just … I don’t know. Not have my back. Let something bad happen to me if you saw it. What would you say to me?”

His hands tightened on her waist. “Not on your fuckin’ life,” he growled.

“There you have it. Not on your _fuckin’_ life, got it? I’m going to have your back whether you like it or not.” Before he could retort, she carefully took his right hand and brought her lips to his palm, to the old scar there – the seal on their promise.  _Now it is writ in our blood,_  she had said that autumn evening all those years ago, but that hadn’t been quite true, or at least not the entire truth. It was written on their bones, in every fiber, muscle and sinew. It was written on the walls of their hearts and every place between. There was no escaping it, not now.

“Dammit, Petra …”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t realize what it meant,” she chastised him gently. “What it would mean.”

“Of course I did, just … fuck. It’s a little different when you’re twelve.”

“Not that different.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t treat me like I’m a stupid asshole, like I wasn’t thinking ahead. It’s – it’s different now, okay? You’re thinking about it too, all quiet and big-eyed all the time. And here.” He swept his thumb beneath her eyes, tracing the darkened skin there. “You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

“Well  _you_  look like you haven’t slept in months. And you need a haircut.” She tugged on a loose curl of hair by the nape of his neck, smiling a little when he scowled up at her.

“I need you to get off my dick about my fuckin’ hair.”

“Don’t be disgusting. When’s the last time you trimmed it, anyway? You could probably tie it back if you wanted.”

“No.”

“Why not? I bet it’d look cute.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

She swatted away his hands and gathered the ends back into a little pokey ponytail; it wasn’t quite long enough to tie all the way back, but her point stood – he desperately needed a trim. “I bet Wil could think of something fun to do with it.”

“That’s never gonna happen.” He snatched her hands away, gripping them by her wrists. “I’m gonna dump you on the floor if you don’t stop pawing my hair.”

“I thought you liked it when I ‘pawed’ your hair.” To prove her point, she shook off his grip and buried her fingers in the curly mass of it, gently dragging her nails against his scalp. “I seem to remember you were pretty fond of this, actually.”

He seemed to struggle with himself; his throat bobbed and she felt him shift beneath her, a twitch that indicated he liked it more than he might admit. “This – ah – this is different.”

“Oh, right. Different.” She knew it was, of course, but she hadn’t had a chance to tease him in so long that she couldn’t help herself. The exchange was dear and familiar to her, and for the first time in over two months she felt the knot of fear in her gut ease. They would take their first steps as Survey Corps soldiers tomorrow, fighting Titans beyond the Walls, but tonight they were safe and they were together, and she wouldn’t squander a single moment of it.

She craned down to kiss him -- and that reversal alone, poised above when normally she had to crane up to look at his face, filled her with odd adrenaline. He froze for only a moment before his lips softened against hers, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, shifting her closer until there was no space between them. She could feel him, feel every line of him – tense and wanting, each ragged breath billowing against her cheek when she twisted a little above him.

But when she reached between them to pull at the buckle of his pants, he broke away. “What if – Wil --?”

“She’ll be out awhile,” she told him breathlessly.

“And curfew –?”

She kissed him, harder this time. “Then we should hurry.”

~

They undressed quickly, desperately – kissing hard enough to bruise. She thought dimly that the next morning her lips might give them away, for they would be darkened by the raw need in each time they claimed each other, with all these long months and fears and frustrations brought to bear. She tore open the buttons of his shirt and slid her hands up the lean planes of his chest, and he responded in kind, somehow even more unsteady and desperate than she had been. There was no time to worshipfully unravel the binding across her chest; this time he tugged it down around her ribs so her breasts sprang free and covered them with his palms – almost too hot to the touch, like sun-warmed cobblestones on bare feet.

They shed articles of clothing in between searing kisses – she yanked his pants off his hips and flung them aside, and he reached around to work her own despite the awkward angle. His fingers trembled as they skimmed her bare skin, and his touch was just as she remembered – those memories she summoned each night, playing over and over in her dizzy thoughts to blunt her desire so she could better carry out her duty as a soldier, undistracted. She trembled too – from fear, from love, from need, from what waited for them tomorrow. From their promise.  

“Petra  --?”

“Stay there,” she told him. A hot lance of desire curled deep in her belly. She swallowed and straddled his lap again, a little shiver alighting up her back, and she felt him shiver too, felt him brush the wet heat between her legs. “Let me …”

“Fuck –“

But the longer she waited the longer she wanted to stay here, in this moment just before the plunge: where he looked up at her with half-lidded eyes, where he licked his lips and slid his hands up her thighs, hard and wanting. Beneath her, he was completely at her mercy – just as she was, every moment of every day. The span of their lives together stretched out before her, the brunt of these long years with him as an unchanging presence, a sturdy hand at her back, or clasped with her own. She thought of the Titans and almost certain death waiting for them tomorrow, and a wild impulse took hold. 

She cupped his flushed face in her hands, skimming his brows, his cheekbones, the familiar lines on either side of his mouth. Her heart gave an unsteady lurch, but she felt odd certainty fill her; a marveling ease that only comes from truth. She wondered why she had waited so long to tell him. “I love you,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”

His eyes widened. “W-what?”

“I love you, Auruo.”

He was quiet a long time. She saw him struggle with himself, his throat working as he swallowed, hands tightening on her waist. His ragged breathing filled the silence, proof that he was alive. “Why’re you doing this goodbye shit?” he said finally, and his voice was thick. “That’s how you want to do this?”

“I just – want you to know. How I feel about you. I don’t want to –“ Her eyes burned. “I don’t want –I don’t want there to be – I just wanted you to know, Auruo. I love you.”

“You’re just saying it because I could die,” he bit out.

“What?! No! God, no. Auruo, I – I’m telling you because it’s  _true_ , and I don’t want something to happen tomorrow without you knowing the truth. Okay? That’s –“

She should have known he wouldn’t believe her. Was she so flighty that her word was meaningless? The sight of him blurred beneath her, and she swiped at her wet face angrily. “If you didn’t, you should have just –“

“Petra … god, you’re just –“ So gently that it nearly hurt, he swept his thumbs over her damp cheeks. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re … you! Do you even see yourself? You’re just – you’re so much – fuck, Petra! You don’t fuckin’ get it, do you?”

“Oh, god, here we go. Is this your ‘you’re great and I’m trash’ thing again?!”

“Well – geez, stop looking at me like that! Maybe it is, alright? Fuck! You just – you think I’m – I’m the kind of person that deserves this from you, when you’re you and I’m – I can’t even say what I mean most of the time, and you say it like it’s just … that’s what I mean! Exactly what I mean. You’re you, and I’m …”

“You idiot,” she sobbed. “You don’t know yourself at all.”

“Yeah, that’s my point exactly! I’m an idiot! And you’re …  _you_! You’re Petra. You’re a class above idiot. A few classes above, honestly. All of them. You’re the opposite of an idiot. So … so what are you doing saying and meaning this stuff about me, huh? What the hell is that about? Do you just – do you honestly not realize you could have someone like – god, literally anyone. You could have literally anyone in the world, and they’d deserve you more than me.”

 _“Shut up,”_  she said, choking back another sob. “I’m not a class above anyone. I’m me and you’re you and I love you. I’m in a better position to decide what I deserve than anyone else, including you, you complete  _idiot!_  And I’m telling you that I want you. And I need you. And  _I love you._ And I’m going to keep saying it over and over until you get it through your thick skull,  _you stubborn_   _idiot!_ ”

For once, he had no sharp retort; he merely stared, trembling beneath her. His eyes were bright. “You love me.”

“ _YES!_  Do you get it now?!”

“Geez, nag. Stop yelling.”

“You absolute wretch--!”

“Can you just – gimme a minute here? _God_. You’re the worst nag I ever met in my life, and you drive me fucking crazy, and you – you make me want to … fuck! I don’t even know. I can’t – I’m just trying to – look, it’s …” He swallowed hard, and she felt him brush her thigh. “I’m just trying to – I wanted to tell you, but I – god! You know, you got the easy end of this shit, okay? You only had to look at my stupid face and say this shit, and I have to look at  _you_ , with you looking like you do – like you stepped out of a fuckin’ dream, and you’re fuckin’ half naked and a breath away from – from fuckin’ me and I’d’ve had trouble saying this kind of shit anyway, but you’re – fuck! You don’t fuckin’ – you don’t fuckin’ get it, do you?! Yeah, you’re you and I’m me and I’m a piece of shit and I can’t just up and say this shit like it’s always sitting on the tip of my tongue, okay?! I can’t, I have to – fuck! I don’t know how, so I just – I don’t know what I’m doing, dammit, I just -- I l-love you, Petra. I l-love you and you’re just … I love you.  _I love you._ Of course I do. How could I not?!”

It was nothing like her serials. She laughed and cried and wiped her snotty nose, and he scrubbed at his vividly red face before tugging her down to his level. “You nag,” he said, and it was the most profound endearment ever spoken by a man. “I love you, I love you. God, I do.” And he kissed her deeply, his hands twisting into her loose hair. He kissed her and she kissed him, and they reminded each other of this – though they'd known, though it'd always been true.  “I love you,” she told him when she took him deep, kissing the corner of his open mouth, trembling with him. “I love you,” he told her as she turned circles above, sliding and slow, as she felt him grow taut, as his hands slid up her thighs to cup her closer, bring him deeper. He pressed the words into her neck on shuddering whispers, and she strung them between each fire-brand kiss, so he would taste the truth of it on his lips. She loved him and he loved her, and that was the only true thing in the entire world. This was the only real place.

~

After, they lay tangled together, damp and bare and breathing hard. She traced circles above his hipbone, smiling when he twitched beneath her fingers. Her lips felt swollen and bruised, and purple marks rose on her collarbone where he had kissed too hard. But it was a good fullness.

Before she could say anything, he pressed a soft, slow kiss to her temple. She shivered in his arms, one hand sliding over his chest to catch the blond, curly hair there. She thought she might tell him again that she loved him, and that she’d have his back – two parts to the same vow – but the curfew bell rang just as she opened her mouth to speak. Of course, of course. There was never enough time. That was their life now.

“Quick!” she hissed. “Get dressed!”

It was a very close shave. Somehow, they had managed to lose Auruo’s pants despite the fact that her barracks was hardly bigger than a latrine. They ransacked every inch of her room searching, and just when it looked like he’d have to borrow a pair of her pants for the shameful walk back they found his crumpled in a corner, tucked almost completely out of sight. He yanked them on as she haphazardly buttoned his shirt, and together they strapped him into his belts – well enough that he could sprint from her shed to his without being accosted for inappropriate dress.

She peeked outside, scanning the area for patrolling officers, but the grounds were still largely empty. “Go!” she hissed, giving Auruo a little shove out of the door. But before he left, he craned close again and pressed a swift, eager kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Go, you idiot!” she tried to say with the appropriate fire.

He swallowed and broke away, head tilted down, glancing up through pale lashes. “G’night.”

She couldn’t stand it. Before he left she grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and tugged him back, kissing him properly – long and slow, savoring, an inhale before the next verse. “I love you.”

And she couldn’t be sure, but as he sped away into the darkness, intent on his barracks and a few hours of peaceful rest, she thought he might have been smiling.

 

 


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for their support during this unexpected hiatus. I love this story too much to give up for good, so thank you to everyone who has commented and lent me their support during one of the most difficult periods of my life. Thank you.

On expedition day, the dawn bell rang at 0500 sharp.

Veterans and recruits alike slipped out of their bunks and into their uniforms. Most were already awake, tangled by private fear and speculation too large to move, so they showered and shaved and arranged their few belongings neatly in their racks well before the sun came up. The reason was obvious; should they not return, an organized space made the task of going through personal effects much easier.

Auruo wrote no more letters. He perched on his bunk and eased an old razor along the line of his jaw, dipping it every now and then in a bowl of filmy water. He’d borrowed Martin’s hand mirror for this irritating task. But all it took was an errant twitch of his fingers, and before he was aware of the pain he saw a drop of red beading from the cut, sliding slowly down his neck. He swiped it away before it could stain his shirt collar.  

“Shaving that wispy mustache?” Axel said behind him, leaning against the doorframe. The words might have been teasing if not for the tightness of his voice.

Auruo shrugged. “It looks stupid.” Patchy and juvenile was a more apt description, but he lacked the will to clarify, especially at his own expense.

He’d spent the entire night chewing his nails ragged, listening to the sound of Martin grinding his teeth in his sleep, and a combination of sleeplessness and anxiety stripped him bare, left him lapsing wildly between detachment and bone-harrowed terror. Hadn’t he been in Petra’s arms earlier, whispering truth and shivering as she turned above, marveling at his nerve and her sum? It wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been real, not looking this day in the eye. He’d spent half his life counting down to this moment, and now that he stood on its edge it seemed impossible, a waking dream. Only two hours until he would venture beyond the Walls, into Titan-claimed territory; a real soldier of the Survey Corps.

With distant firmness, he pressed the flat of his thumb against the cut until it no longer bled before slowly rinsing his hands, watching red swirl with the soap.

~

The mess hall was nearly silent this morning. Recruits and veterans alike hunched over their steaming plates, lost in private speculation. Some spoke quietly amongst themselves, with eyes that cut like the new swords at their hips. Auruo thought dimly of the factory in Karanese, and of roughly three hundred men and boys trudging up the street to its dirty walls and windows, their hands shaping his own blades. He wondered if his father’s were among them.

He was startled out of his reverie by Petra, who gingerly lowered herself into the seat beside him. She smiled when their gaze met, but it was a tight thing, purely for his own benefit. He tried to smile back for hers.

They were encouraged by their superiors to eat well, because south of Wall Rose’s gate the most one could hope for was a hasty mouthful of hardtack. But try as he might Auruo could not stomach their typical breakfast of eggs and mash; each bite lingered in his mouth like a bad smell. Even the thought of wasting food couldn’t settle his traitorous stomach.

He was not the only one to struggle. Petra shivered at his side, her slim shoulders brushing his own, and Axel’s large hands clenched and unclenched on the table, tendons stark against his dark golden skin. Wil cradled her head and fixed her long stare at nothing and no one. Only Martin seemed relatively unaffected; the sole evidence of his unease was in his sallow complexion and the dark smudges beneath his eyes.

“This is – bullshit,” Wil muttered to her plate. “This is fucking – this is – fucking –“

Oskar settled a large hand on her shoulder. “Remember the apples,” he told her. “Remember?”

“Shut up about the apples, Oskar.”

For once, Axel didn’t rush to his counterpart’s defense. “Yeah, how about you give that stuff a rest.”

“You could stand to think about them too,” Oskar said mildly.

By now, Auruo was accustomed to this. The three of them would occasionally lapse into conversation that was meant for them alone, filled with references to the childhood they’d shared – the many long afternoons spent racing between their villages for some company and mischief. He shared similar stories with Petra, so he figured it would be churlish to protest. In these terms, it was always Martin left outside.

“Yeah?” Wil fired back, that familiar combative glint sparking in her eyes. “I’ll think about throwing a pile of apples at your misshapen head, Oskar. How’s that? I’ll think about pelting you lumpy with every apple in this shitpile, how’s that sound?”

Oskar shrugged.

“Or I’ll eat them all in front of you, every goddamn one.  And you just – you just have to watch. How about it?”

“Wil, please,” Petra whispered.

“Please nothing – I can’t say what I want now? Can’t –“

“You’re being an asshole,” Auruo said sharply. “What’s your problem?”

Wil stared at him, her gaze sharp with incredulity. “What do you think is my problem, you brain-dead pile of shit --?”

“That’s enough!” Martin snapped, and Auruo flinched at his voice; it was the first time he’d spoken above a hoarse whisper in weeks. “Squabbling like children, honestly. You’re soldiers. _We’re_ soldiers. It’s time to act like it.”

No one else spoke for a long time. Auruo thought they might have accepted Martin’s command (and he marveled privately at the difference between the skittish boy he’d met three years ago and this quietly assured young man, sitting calm and prepared, as if he had weathered dozens of expeditions already). But after that long silence, Wil shook her head slowly, cradling her brow in her hands again. “We’re not soldiers,” she said in a strange, swallowed voice.

Axel seemed to regain some of himself, for he looked at them with an expression almost familiar – almost the excitable ringleader he’d always been. “Come on, Wilhelmina. Martin’s right. Just like always, huh?” A pause to ruffle Martin’s hair, his favorite affectionate gesture. “No use in being anxious. Especially since we’re the best in our class, remember? Sitting at this table is the best the East 102nd has to offer. So all we have to do is kick as much ass as we did at training and we’ll be fine.”

Wil was not convinced; if anything, Axel’s encouragement seemed only to distance her more. “The best, huh?” she said in that same exposed voice, lip curling. “What a joke.”

 

~

Headquarters buzzed with grim competence. Soldiers exited the mess hall and went straight to the stables, double-checking their saddle packs for their supplies before mounting and taking their position on the road. Petra scanned hers for the fifth time before following suit, sifting through hardtack wrapped in oiled cloth, a bundle of linen bandages, a battered looking glass, a water skein, her signal pistol and thirty flares, including two concussive rounds.

At the head of the main road, the Commander and his officers waited, then the Squad Leaders in a tight spread behind them. It was no small undertaking to set a force of five hundred on their way, yet Petra marveled at the efficacy of it all; riders took to their horses, and the horses took to the road without coaxing. These were no temperamental farm nags; even Auruo’s disagreeable bay allowed him to mount without nipping at his hair.

“Remember where we meet up,” Axel was saying. “When we get back.” She was not imagining the stubborn emphasis he placed on the word, as if their return was somehow a foregone conclusion, and no matter what happened today they would see the other side of it. She almost envied him that hope, for today she couldn’t manage it.

“I remember,” Wil snapped, spurring her horse. “You only told us fifty-thousand fucking times.”

For the most part, the ride south was silent. Every now and then a nervous recruit would whisper something behind her, their voices insubstantial, but each instance was isolated and brief, and soon all that could be heard was the clopping of hooves on the road. Trees rustled in a dull breeze. Somewhere in the distance, she heard a crow calling.

She’d hoped for good weather at least – if they were to go beyond the Walls into certain danger, she’d have preferred to do so under sunlight -- but dark clouds gathered on the horizon, splintering the sunrise. The air felt thick, lingering wetly in her lungs.

“Will it hold?” one veteran asked, clicking his hilts anxiously.

A muscle in Squad Leader Brandt’s jaw flickered. “We’ll ride regardless.”

Frowning, Petra’s gaze roved over a girl with her hands clasped awkwardly over her reins, head dipped toward the saddle; clearly in prayer. There was something so sad about it that Petra turned away to stare determinedly ahead, swallowing the hard lump in her throat. She had prayed for deliverance before and her prayers had gone unacknowledged. She had begged, lips trembling, her prayers as fervent as an ascetic on their fifth day without food, and God hadn’t cared.

She could die today. God hadn’t cared about her mother and wouldn’t care about her either. People died every day; soldiers far more experienced than she was, who had lived more than half their lives in 3DMG, who had refined engaging Titans to down to a grim science. What was she compared to them? A raw recruit with trembling legs and an increasing thickness in the back of her throat. Axel was wrong; they could fall to a Titan today as easily as a wheat is cut by a scythe. She would never see her father again – he would be all alone in this world, all alone in an empty house, with only his customers to keep him company. Their old argument reemerged in brutally altered context; it wasn’t because he didn’t believe in her that he wanted her to leave the military – he wanted her to leave so that she might live.

 _I’ll never be cross with him again_ , she prayed desperately, earlier skepticism forgotten. _I won’t lose my temper, and I’ll write more letters. I’ll write him a damn novel every night if you just see us all through …_

Auruo sat rigidly in his saddle, his cheek bulging as he chewed on the edge of his tongue. It was a familiar gesture; he often did it before a test or speaking with her father. She knew without asking that he wrestled with the same thoughts that consumed her. Had they been alone, she might have reached across the gap between them to take his hand or touch his face; something that would tell him without words that she’d have his back, just like she promised. He wasn’t going into hell alone. But now they rode among their fellow soldiers, and anything that even hinted at fraternization would not be tolerated.

She studied his beloved features; pinched brows, lips twisting as he turned back forward, watching the shape of the Wall loom closer. The hazel of his eyes were muted in the grey daylight. _He could die_ , she thought, and cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. Instantly, a dark future spooled out before her: Auruo broken and bloody on the corpse cart, wrapped in canvas; Auruo on the pyre, his belongings packed in a small wooden box before being shipped back to Karanese for his family. She would have to reconcile the memory of him alive and vibrant, laughing and scowling and shivering beneath her as his hands slid up her thighs, to the reality of a corpse. 

Resolve bloomed in her chest. She wouldn’t let that happen.

She held Primrose’s reins for leverage and reached across to gently nudge his fist with hers; a tap, like they would all do before hitting the course. He looked up; his skin was the color of old milk, his features stricken with naked fear. It took him a moment to recognize what she was doing, but soon he blinked and made a fist too, returning the gesture. _I’ve got you,_ she seemed to say. _And you’ve got me._ They were in accord, their understanding wordless and instant. She felt the same fear tightening its grip in her chest, until each breath caught against her racing heartbeat, for once at odds. She would do her duty despite it.

By the time the Survey Corps reached Trost, the clouds had overtaken the entire sky, the sun a hazy sphere, fading into the grey expanse. The inner gates were already open, manned by a half dozen Garrison soldiers that looked at the procession with distinctly pitying expressions; as they passed beneath, stray clumps of dirt and grass drifted down from the prongs, dusting their cloaks. People crowded the main thoroughfare, muttering amongst themselves and craning over shoulders to get a better look; in this grey, anxious morning, their voices folded into the fog. Petra saw a gaggle of children clamber on a stack of crates to see over the heads of the adults, chattering excitedly as the procession of soldiers passed their perch. She’d never seen any of them before, but they were familiar in a way that made her chest ache.

She felt a nudge, and looked down just in time to see Wil’s foot brush her ankle. “Pay attention,” she said in a passable imitation of Brandt’s accent, but she lacked their Squad Leader’s gruff certainty; instead, her voice trembled around the edges, tremulous and weak. Even her jackal’s grin, implacable in the world before, wobbled for a few moments before it settled. Her skin was dull and washed-out in the grey light, matching her white-blond hair and dark eyes pitted by matching circles; she looked oddly like a drowned woman.

The procession halted. The outer gate rose with a rumble of brick and chains. Primrose stirred, tossing her mane. Commander Smith was shouting something, but they were too far back to hear the words.

She thought of the river, and their racing tree.

~

First, they passed through a village much like the one outside Karanese. It had once been a bustling center of trade, the last before Shiganshina, but now was little more than a crumbling ruin. The procession moved too quickly for him to stare, to make doubly sure, but Auruo thought he saw a pile of bones at the entrance, bleached nearly white by years under the sun. It was good they were bones, he thought distantly. Good that there was nothing else left.

His heart thudded in his throat, each pulse like the clenching of a fist. His nerves sang. Over the heads of his comrades he could see open landscape drawing closer with each gallop, wide and inscrutable, rife with Titans. There were no Walls in this place. He thought this would register as relief, considering his long-held animosity toward them, but the Walls kept his family safe, kept the Titans away, and for the first time in his life he found himself appreciating them, now that they were at his back.

He wrenched his eyes wide and let out a shaky breath. He’d expected a horde of Titans to be waiting for them, expected having to cut a swath through a teeming mass of them to get to the open lands beyond, but the Garrison had done their work well – there was nothing, not even a steaming Titan corpse to reconcile with years of supposition, to better prepare himself for what was sure to come.

“Lucky,” muttered the soldier at his left, his hands drifting to the hilts of his gear, giving them a few nervous clicks.

Auruo couldn’t even summon the presence of mind to retort. He was so frazzled that it took him a few seconds to notice the flanks spreading out east and west, deploying into the formation that they’d trained obsessively for the last two months. “Look alive, Bossard!” he heard Brandt shout, and he pulled on the reins with a choked little breath, taking his place on the west end of the formation.

He wasn’t supposed to, but he watched as Petra and Oskar broke off in the other direction. He watched her bright auburn braid bouncing between her shoulder blades with each gallop, and remembered the way it had looked when they raced as children. They rode faster now, too fast. He’d coveted that heady speed as a boy, but now he recoiled from the tremendous pace of his horse, his posture crumpling in the saddle, and kept his eyes trained on her until she was a speck in the distance, too small to discern.

The thunderous sound of hoofbeats grew thin; a multitude narrowed down to contingents, then squads, then pairs. Martin and Axel rode true south, gold and black smears quickly swallowed by the horizon. Soon, his only company was Wil, riding hard at his left. It might one day comfort him, to have her as his partner in formation; it might one day remind him of their training, the feel of her shaking fist against his before they leapt into the trees, but today he could only look at her blankly before resuming his scan of the horizon.

 _Petra_ , beat his heart. _Petra._

She was on the other side of the formation, with a stranger as her partner, some guy with a snub nose and dark hair; in other words, she was outside of his sight and reach, his ability to aid. She could be fighting a Titan right this moment and he wouldn’t know about it until after they returned. She could be dead. The thought sent a horrible, sickening chill shooting down his back, making him shudder hard in the saddle.

A wall came down in his thoughts. If he was to survive today, he would need to keep everything on the other side of it; his anxieties, his fears, everything that he knew and felt. His family, his friends, Petra.

He lost track of the minutes as they passed, and instead marked the landscape; clusters of short trees and brush, the river winding south. Every few kilometers they would pass a ruined village until the sight of it almost grew routine, as if there was nothing more normal in the world than empty homes with hollows in the slating, approximately the size of a giant’s fist.

At first, Wil kept the grim, anxious silence of this altered landscape, but soon he could hear her muttering over the pace of their horses, and before long her mutters evolved into fully-voiced commentary.

“You look like shit, Boss,” Wil said.

“Yeah? Better get a load of yourself before you start making accusations.” At this point, the reply was unthinking and automatic; hardly indicative of his state.

“Wonder how Lamb’s doing,” she said, squinting into the distance.

He’d been wondering himself, so anxiously that he was probably going to give himself an ulcer. “Shut up.”

“You shut up. Geez, Boss. Are you ever _not_ a complete asshole?”

He might have retorted, but before he could his gaze drifted to her hands, clutching the reins so hard that her knuckles had gone white. She could strip him with the causticity of her tone, but the illusion crumpled when he reconciled the retort with her harrowed expression, the uncharacteristic pallor that turned her golden skin a sickened, sallow shade.

Sympathy overwhelmed him. “Nope. Look, I’m just – we gotta pay attention.”

“I _am_ paying attention,” she shot back. “I’m going crazy. Right? I mean, we should have run into something by now.”

This had not escaped him; the longer they rode, the more frayed his nerves became, until each undue sound and sight sent a hot thrill of adrenaline curdling in his stomach. “You wanna have to fight a Titan this early?”

“Not my point. I’m just saying … it’s _weird_. They talked to us in training like the whole fucking place is filled up with Titans, like we’d have to cut our way through to get to the objective. But we’ve been riding for a couple hours and nothing – not a single one, not even outside the gates, where they’re supposed to be. It’s weird, is all. Where the fuck are they?”

He didn’t know. He didn’t even think Squad Leader Hange Zoe would know, and she seemed to know everything – more than he knew, certainly. Creeping fear slowly overtook him; if they weren’t on this side of the formation, they must be on the other side, where Petra was, and Martin and Oskar. Cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck.

In the far distance, a burst of green smoke streaked across the sky; the formation was moving southwest, to accommodate the winding river. “Shit,” Wil muttered, fumbling with her signal pistol. “Shit, shit …”

“I got it.” Despite everything, his hands were sure. He loaded the cartridge, raised the pistol with his arm pressed against his ear, and fired. The column of smoke lingered behind long after they’d rode ahead, the only proof they’d been there at all.

~

It took the whole morning to reach the forward camp, and by the time they had done so, Auruo’s nerves were so frayed that he jumped at every undue sound and flinched at every streak of movement on the edge of his vision. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept or eaten, and though he knew this was at least partially responsible for his slow breakdown, he couldn’t settle his fears long enough to swallow a bite of hard tack. Even water upset his roiling gut.

Somehow, they’d rode the whole morning without seeing a single Titan.

He scanned the gathered soldiers desperately, looking for familiar features among the strange; sunlight hair, skinny shoulders, a boisterous voice that easily carried above the muffled chatter. Clumsily, he dismounted his horse and plunged into the thick of it, pushing unfamiliar soldiers aside, his morning of fear chewing a ragged hole in his stomach. He’d been right – there’d been no action on the west flank because the east flank had been wiped out, decimated, there’d be nothing to burn, nothing to mourn over, not even a scrap of cloth --

“Auruo!”

His heart leapt. Cutting through the crowd was the most beautiful sight in the world; Petra, streaked with grime but otherwise unharmed, with Martin in her wake, Oskar and Axel close behind. They closed the gap between them in only a few paces, but before he took her into his arms he remembered that they weren’t supposed to behave like that in public, at least not if they wanted to keep their pay from being docked. She seemed to understand; with a little, shaky smile, she curled one hand into a fist and tapped it against his, just as she’d done earlier that morning. And he’d never loved a person more than he loved her in that moment.

“Thank God you’re alright,” she said, her voice shaking. “Thank God.”

Wil shoved him aside and enveloped Petra in a tight embrace. “Fuck this formation shit. I’m riding with you.”

“Wil,” Petra said, her tone gently admonishing.

“Don’t ‘Wil’ me, I’m serious. Me and Boss, you should have seen it. I thought he was going to puke all over his horse.”

“Geez, Wil,” he muttered. “Could you mind your fuckin’ business, maybe?”

“You guys _are_ my business.”

“Tell me more about your business, Wilhelmina,” Axel said, and he shot her his favored, charming grin.

“Oh, shut up. God, you’re disgusting.”

“You like it, though.”

Oskar snorted, covering what was sure to be a smile behind his massive, callused palm.

It might have been a little inappropriate, and they were in no way safe, but something about being among their comrades lent an illusion enough to facilitate their usual camaraderie, and he found himself comforted by it, if only slightly.

Forward camp lay on the apex of a low incline, chosen because it allowed unobstructed view of the surrounding wilderness for at least one hundred kilometers in every direction. The Squad Leaders quickly constructed a tent and followed Commander Smith inside, speaking in low, anxious voices. Nine squads unloaded the supply cart and began construction of the outposts, spread out over a distance of five kilometers, and soon the sound of hammers on nails cut through the thick silence, dead air that promised a storm. As for the recruits, they were brusquely instructed to scout the perimeter and standby.

“Not going to hear me complaining,” Axel said easily. “Though you’d think they’d ask the scrubs to do the busy work, right?”

“We’re not fast enough yet,” Marin said immediately, scratching his chin. “It took us two and a half hours to build that test, remember? They need to be done in less than half that time, otherwise we won’t be back by sundown.”

“You’d think they’d have gotten farther south with the outposts by now,” Petra said. “Haven’t they been building these for three years?”

“Sometimes storms knock them down,” Martin replied. “Or they’re caught in a melee, or they’re not built well enough. Not that there’s much of a choice otherwise – we can’t bring bricks and mortar out here, they’re too heavy. It’s just part of the cost of exploration.”

“Well, somebody’s on the up and up,” Axel said, tone speculative. “Where you hearing this stuff?”

Martin shrugged. “I listen to the officers, the Commander especially. He thinks of everything.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re one of his simpering fans,” Wil said loudly. “That guy gives me the fucking creeps.”

“He’s a genius,” Martin argued. “Did you know he developed the Long Range Scouting Formation himself? Before he became Commander, they rode in a single column. Apparently, the former Commander thought strength in numbers would server them better against the Titans, plunging into territory like a broadsword, but they lost three times as many soldiers as they do now.” Martin’s tone was wondering, and Auruo realized he probably found the Commander aspirational; another logical outsider, a cool-headed leader that saved lives with his plans. 

Oskar, for his part, seemed to agree; he settled his large hand on Martin’s shoulder, giving it a little pat and shake.

“Thank you, Oskar. The rest of you would do well to respect the Commander; he’s survived more than any of us will see in our lifetimes.”

“There’s no way you could possibly know that,” Wil fired back. “Maybe I’m gonna be the next Commander. Maybe I’ll survive more than he’s ever seen in his weirdo life. What about that, huh?”

Martin stared at her dead on. “It’s foolish to assume survival before we’ve even made it back from our first expedition.”

There wasn’t really anything to say to that. They were still outside the Walls, and no amount of familiar banter could remove them from this place unharmed, no matter how deeply they wished it, no matter how ardently they strove to forget. This wasn’t over, not yet.

The six of them stood in cowed silence and surveyed the darkening horizon. Above their heads, stormclouds churned.

~

The Survey Corps constructed their outpost in record time; only an hour passed before the order came up to mount their horses and assume formation. Though it wasn’t exactly beyond reproach, Petra seized his hand and gave it a quick, nervous squeeze before slipping away. They were well on their way before Auruo’s hand no longer buzzed with pleasant warmth, marking the place her fingers had touched. He tried to tell himself that this wouldn’t be the last time. He would see her on the other side.

At first, it was much like the first leg of the expedition. The landscape was abandoned, blanketed by heavy clouds, and there wasn’t a bird or creature in sight. Auruo let himself speculate as they rode; perhaps they’d make it back before the rain, without a single person lost, without a single altercation. There would be a feast at base, music and dancing; Martin would break out his violin and play reel after reel with Dunn and his goddamn bagpipes. People would laugh and drink too much and spill beer on each other. Perhaps this time Auruo would dance, fumbling and unsure, but so acutely grateful to be alive that he wouldn’t care if he looked like a stupid, clumsy child. He would tell Petra that he loved her and wouldn’t stumble over the words. He’d tell her he loved her every minute.   

But a few hours into the return journey the clouds finally broke, and thick sheets of rain descended on the landscape. The ground muddied almost instantly, slowing their pace to a labored canter. One hundred kilometers of visibility shrank almost instantly to twenty, then ten; soon, he could hardly see Stupid’s head bobbing back and forth in front of him.

“Shit,” Wil hissed. “Shit. Shitfuck. _Shit_!”

“Wil!”

“We can’t fire off signals anymore! And we sure as fuck can’t see them!”

“So pay attention!”

Perception funneled to a singular point, abstract details that no longer comprised a whole; his wheeling heartbeat, the sound of Stupid’s labored breath, Wil’s panicked muttering. He thought of Benoit reading on the stoop, his mother making dinner. His father’s arms banding with muscle as he pounded blades into their deadly shape. He thought of Petra, and prayed to the god he didn’t believe in that the clouds would hold over her position.

“I can’t hear,” Wil gasped. “I can’t hear anything! Just the rain …”

 “Just keep going!” he urged her. “You gonna fall to pieces over a little rain?”

But it was more than that; it was certain death, in a thousand little ways. They no longer had the benefit of signal flares, directional or warning. They could hardly hear each other over the deluge, let alone anything else. Should they deviate course, they could become lost and be left behind. Should they wander into a cluster of Titans, they’d only know about it the moment it was too late to fight or flee.

Their horses slowed, and Stupid whickered softly. His intuition gave a single, sickening pang. “Eyes open,” he called to Wil. “They’re acting funny.”

But no sooner had he said the words when a massive rumble shook the earth. Stupid’s ears flattened against his head, and he snorted as he quickened his gait; Auruo pressed one hand to the horse’s neck and felt a throbbing pulse beneath his palm, and knew it matched his own. As they watched, a dark shape moved through the curtain of rain.

“Oh my god,” Wil said, her eyes pitted wide, mouth contorted into an odd shape. “Oh my god, oh my god.”

_“Shut up!”_

He knew it was futile, but he plunged his hand into the saddle pack, rummaging around for a signal flare. His fingers slipped over the canisters, and a growl of frustration issued from between clenched teeth. Too slow, dammit, too slow – The dark shape was nearly upon them when he finally loaded a red flare, and this time he didn’t bother to shield his ears when he fired.

“What the fuck are you doing, you moron? No one is going to be able to see it!”

“Look!” He pointed above their heads, to the column of red-streaked rain; it lingered for far less time than its smoky counterpart might have, but it was better than nothing. “You f-fire another.”

She had managed to load her pistol when a massive hand swept through the rain, large enough that it cut a visible swath; massive fingers extended, and slowly the behemoth came into focus. Twelve meters, with overlong limbs and a stooped, wizened appearance; it looked down at them with vacant interest, its lips stretched wide into a terrifying approximation of a grin. It was humanoid enough to unsettle on its own, but the detached intent in which it pursued its prey was perhaps its most terrifying aspect of all, for when it swiped again, nearly knocking Wil from her horse, it seemed disconnected from the proceedings, as if it wasn’t really invested in the business of devouring humans.  

 _“Fuck!”_ Wil shrieked, and to Auruo’s horror she began to laugh hysterically. _“Fuck, fuck –“_

_“MOVE!”_

The Titan opened its horrible mouth, teeth gleaming impossibly in the gloom. Wil let off another round and yanked hard on her horse’s reins just in time; the Titan’s hand smashed into the ground where she’d been only moments before, and it sent a sheet of mud cascading over them both. Wil’s maddened laughter doubled, twisted; she could have been screaming and Auruo wouldn’t have known the difference.

“Althaus!”

But they couldn’t turn to see who had called, for they would have to take their eyes away from the Titan, and that was impossible. Auruo thought he saw a flash of green caught between those colossal teeth, the scraps of a cloak that had belonged to one of their comrades, now almost certainly dead in the gut of this beast. Nausea clamped his throat shut.

“Bossard, Althaus – bank left!” This time he recognized Squad Leader Brandt’s rough brogue, pitched high in what might have been fear if it had been any other person speaking. He obeyed mindlessly as the Titan sprang back to its feet, lunging. God, it was fast – it would be upon them in another moment –

Auruo’s hands drifted to the hilts of his gear, but Brandt’s voice cut through the commotion before he could draw his blades: “Don’t you fucking dare, Bossard – leave this one to us!”

But it was kill or die, wasn’t it? Wasn’t that the whole point? The reality of a soldier. He didn’t know if he could kill, but he had no intention of dying. _Petra_ , beat his heart. _Petra_.

Another dark shape soared through the rain, this one much smaller. He’d drawn his blades, and as he soared past Auruo recognized the face of the hilt-clicking soldier, the one who spoke so frankly of his life and the way these vile conflicts affected him. For a stunned, stupid moment Auruo wondered how he’d be able to kill a colossus with hands that shook so badly he could barely hold a mug, but somehow those blades were sure in his hands – he wove around the Titan like an insect, always just a hair out of reach.

“Don’t look at him, keep going!” Brandt shouted.

But Auruo couldn’t look away. This was nothing like training, nothing like those wooden dummies that lacked real hands to grab and teeth to tear and crush. The only real practice was right here, on the field. As he watched, Brandt grappled the Titan’s ankle and soared forward, intent on an assist – she’d nearly reached the Titan’s ankles when it spun suddenly, its immense hand flashing through the rain, too fast to mark –

\-- and in the next moment, the Titan had caught the man in its grip. He swore and flailed, but Auruo saw distantly that it had him around his arms, and he heard Hange’s voice in the back of his mind, the warning he’d scribbled in feverish, illegible notes. The Titan’s mouth opened wide, and the man began to scream.

He saw Brandt reverse, detach; saw her grapple the Titan’s neck and fly toward it with deadly intent in her eyes, but her blades were a second too late; they bit into the Titan’s neck just as the Titan bit down. Blood mingled with the rain, soaking the man’s white pants. He gave one, final twitch and went limp. This wasn’t real, this wasn’t real – The Titan collapsed and its jaw unhinged, and the man rolled lifelessly to the side, pulled by gravity. His abdomen gaped red where he’d been bitten through, innards slipping from the wound, hanging as if by a thread –

“Oh my god,” Wil whispered, no long laughing.

Brandt landed hard in the mud, wiping the blood and viscera from her cheek. “God dammit!” she howled, kicking the steaming corpse. “God _dammit_!” But this was the only reaction she allowed herself; in the next moment, she was the brusque, businesslike Squad Leader that he’d come to know. She whistled sharply and two horses trotted to where she stood; she mounted one and took the other’s reins, and without a second look back, spurred them forward.

“You two! Ride with me!”

And they obeyed.

~

After, Auruo didn’t think about much of anything. The world bent and twisted before his eyes, a distant place, too remote to touch. Even his own body was unknown; his heartbeat a disconnected sensation, his thoughts clunking one after another, abstract, unknowable things. He had seen that man die. He had seen the tables turn in the blink of an eye, a mere heartbeat. One moment he was sure and strong, and the next a halved corpse dangling from some Titan’s teeth. That was the reality of this life.

Brandt led them in silence. There was never a more consummate professional; she kept their pace hard, and when the rain began to abate, she sent up a series of signals that Auruo didn’t know, ones he assumed were for the officers only. There was no more talk, no more hysterical laughter; he and Wil rode with increasingly horrified, disassociated realization. They were probably going to die. This was it. That moment with Petra at the forward camp was it. The night before was it. He was going to die. And if he didn’t, she would. Perhaps they would together, alone. He’d promised to have her back, but how was that possible on opposite ends of the formation? He felt an irrational surge of hatred for the Commander, and for himself – for his foolishness, his unforgivable stupidity.  None of them had any business out here.

“Bossard!” Brandt snapped, staring at him with hard eyes. “Pay attention.”

Hadn’t Wil mocked their Squad Leader’s little spiel that morning? Nothing delighted her more than the older woman’s incessant mantra, spoken as if to a gaggle of schoolchildren whose minds wandered during class, whose greatest offenses were that they couldn’t manage arithmetic and reading to their matron’s satisfaction. Auruo no longer found it funny.

Not much time had passed before a lone rider overtook their position; her blonde hair clung to her forehead and cheek, and her uniform was spattered in mud and gore. Auruo’s gut gave another sickened twist.

“Report!” Brandt barked.

“Forward right is broken,” the woman panted, bent over her horse.

“Completely?!”

“Yes, sir. There was –“ She gave an involuntary shudder. “There was a horde waiting. It was – it was a massacre. There was –“

“What are the orders?”

“No orders, just a warning from the top. Depending on the position of the horde by the time we get to the gate, if we wanna get back home, we’re gonna have to cut through. If we get close enough to the Wall, we can count on the support Garrison and cannoniers to give us a hand.”

“Noted. Ride on.”

The woman obeyed, spurring her horse further west, presumably to warn whatever soldiers she could find. Auruo watched her go, an icy block of fear freezing solid in the pit of his stomach. A horde … one of these things had been bad enough; he could hardly fathom a teeming mass of them, powerful enough to break the forward west flank. That was nearly seventy, one-sixth of their entire force.

“Fucking hell,” Brandt muttered. “Alright, I need you two to pay attention. Althaus, you listening to me?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Bossard?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right. We’re almost home, you got it? So I don’t want any stupid shit from you two. I want you to keep your heads down and ride straight for the gate. Don’t engage, don’t rush to anyone’s defense; I don’t care who you see get in trouble, you ride for the gate and don’t do anything stupid. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

But it was too late, wasn’t it? He’d already done something irredeemably stupid; when Petra had talked of the Survey Corps all those years ago, he’d shared that dream instead of telling her not to be an idiot. He’d snarled at her father, cursed his lack of faith, when the man’s only crime was failing to express what they should have realized; this place was a death sentence. There was no coming back.

For all he knew, she was already dead. She hadn’t been in the forward right, but she’d been close enough to that formation that his stomach churned with bone-harrowing terror, consuming as a void. It was too large to process, this reality without Petra; it was too big, too many parts – too much would be missing. He couldn’t let himself fathom it.

Dusk had nearly fallen when Auruo saw the Wall in the distance, stretching across the horizon like the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. Wil let out a garbled sound; half laughter, half sob. But to the right of the Wall was the horde; a darkened smear over the landscape, a roiling mass of limbs and teeth.

“How are there so many?” he heard Wil say in a breathy, insubstantial voice.

“It doesn’t matter how, Althaus; it won’t matter how until we get back inside. Right now all that matters is that it _is_ , and we’re gonna have to deal with it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You remember what I said?”

“Yes, sir.”

The rain slowly tapered off before stopping completely; only the dark clouds remained, obscuring the setting sun. He bit down on the edge of his tongue until he tasted blood, and it galvanized him; they were riding into the maw of hell, into the jaws of almost certain death, and he would follow orders. He would do exactly as he was told because he’d chosen this life; he was a soldier, and a soldier obeyed orders.

~

What veterans that remained would talk of the 34th expedition in hushed, somber voices; that is, if they spoke of it at all. More often than not it was left undiscussed, collectively ignored, for to think of it was to remember one of the worst defeats in Survey Corps history. When Auruo mentioned that it had been his first expedition, he was met with a chorus of slow exhales and nods. A crucible by fire, one said. And that sounded about right.

Fresh greenhorns, however, would ask about it – their eyes bright with a curiosity that was achingly familiar, and so, incredibly distant. It had been many years since he felt the same. He rebuffed their requests with the requisite cursing, and they would not ask again; assuming, perhaps, that it was merely too painful to speak of.

The honest truth was that Auruo did not remember what happened, not the way people normally remembered things. Even right after, though it had only just happened, he remembered only bits and pieces, as if someone had taken a knife to his brain and cut various holes in his recollection, so that only disjointed images remained.

He remembered Brandt riding to meet the bulk of the left flank, her cloak whipping behind her like a banner. Her voice cut through the din, and her arms moved in the shape of formation – guiding soldiers in the absence of the Commander. He remembered finding her brave, and almost beautiful in that bravery; how strange it was that she could be so at home here, in this carnage-strewn battlefield. He remembered knowing with the same certainty that he would never be as she was, not even if he lived to her age.

He remembered pieces of bodies. An arm in the grass, shorn clean; the white of the bone was like a beacon, shining through the dark. There was a head too, and further on a pile of bodies, covered in streaming bile. He saw a girl that he’d sat next to during lectures in that pile, and a boy that had bumped into him that morning, almost knocking his tray out of his hands. He remembered screams, garbled sobs behind him, people recognizing friends and loved ones.

He remembered Wil’s bloodless face, her deep blue eyes nearly black in the darkness, cheeks bright with tears. But he couldn’t remember the sound of her sobs, and for that he was thankful. Perhaps they had been soundless. 

He remembered thinking about Petra, because he thought about Petra a lot that day – he thought about her when Brandt ordered them forward, and when a piece of a person flew past his position – the squelching sound it made as it struck ground. He thought about their racing tree, and kissing her collarbone; thought about her bright auburn hair tumbling down her shoulders, thought of her streaking nearly faster than was possible, so fast that she nearly flew.

He remembered falling from his horse while trying to dodge a massive grip, remembered watching it slowly descend and being filled with the knowledge that he was going to die, in this very moment, he was going to die with piss and mud soaking his pants, with his heart stalled in his chest, too terrified to scream –

–  and he remembered a streak of black and green, a whirling dervish of a man slicing through the Titan’s neck before Auruo could blink away the image, obviously a part of some irreversible delirium. But it was real; he remembered Captain Levi, very clearly: Levi standing in the muck and shucking the dulled blades, looking at him as if he were stupid. He remembered his mouth moving, but not the words he said; the very first time his hero had spoken to him, and even now he couldn’t remember, no matter how hard he tried or how long he thought about it. He might have felt ashamed for choking, for pissing himself, but at that moment all he could think of was that Levi was very small, and the Titan was so very large, and none of it made sense.

He remembered riding toward the gate, watching an Aberrant zig-zag toward a group of riders who were unaware. He might have chalked this up to hallucination had it not been witnessed by six of his comrades; streaked with grime and gore, knees knocking with primal fear, he leapt from his horse and engaged the Titan. He grappled and reversed; when it took a mighty swipe at him, he quickly attempted to redirect, but the wind-sheer combined with force and inertia gave him a hard, uncontrollable bank. He sprawled in the muck, dove out of the way when a massive hand came crashing down. It took nearly a minute of clumsy, instinctual movements when he finally grappled the behemoth’s neck and shot toward its unguarded nape. The cut travelled up his arms, vibrating like a struck bell; steaming blood spattered his face and neck. When a soldier asked him what he’d been thinking, he shrugged. He only remembered that there’d been a streak of bright auburn in that unguarded group, and that he didn’t consciously decide to do anything – it had just happened.

He remembered the Wall, remembered the gate crashing down. Remembered finding Petra and pulling her into his arms, the regulations be damned. He remembered the feel of her tears against his neck, the sound of her voice like the home he’d left behind, her trembling, rain-soaked body and the way it felt to hold her after believing that he would never again be able to.

He remembered meeting at the spot Axel specified with Petra at his side; remembered Wil joining him, then Axel, then Martin. He remembered waiting for nearly an hour before Axel turned to face the rest of them, and he would never forget this as long as he lived – the horrible pallor that marred his skin, bone-white, heavy with creeping realization.

He remembered the way his voice trembled when his massive friend whispered: “Where’s Oskar?”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is dedicated to the squad for putting up with 4 1/2 months of a wreck while I got my head back on, not to mention endlessly spitballing with me about these next chapters. Love you guys.

Silence fell. Blood-spattered soldiers streamed around them, but it made no difference; they could have been completely alone, the five of them arranged in a space for six. Each stood transfixed by Axel’s plaintive question and the answer nobody could bear to speak.

A violent shudder rippled up Petra's back. It was dark, and she was cold. “He … could be with the injured,” she whispered.

Axel didn’t seem to hear her. He craned over their heads, searching the faces and silhouettes for a familiar one among them. Even in the dark, she could see the whites of his eyes.

“The injured,” Wil said loudly. “Oskar’s with the injured.”

 _No, that’s not right_ , she thought. _I only said that he could be_. But Wil called his name again and his unfocused stare fixed on them, unmet expectation in his eyes. Before they could speak again, he turned on his heel and strode off in the wake of their comrades.

She floated behind.

The Axel of the morning would have smiled, probably, and made a breathless joke before setting out. But without his counterpart, he seemed strangely diminished. His uniform was streaked with mud and gore, and he’d sustained a gash across his forehead, which had bled over half his face down to his neck, soaking the collar of his jacket. But worst were his eyes; they burned from behind that curtain of red like two smoldering pits, desperate and lost.

People meandered in the courtyard. Voices, whispers and wails. There was no wind, no rustling branches to drown them out. It took an age for them to cut through the sea of their grieving comrades, both those who had rode with them on the expedition and those who had remained behind as reserve, distinguishable by the state of their uniforms, and the state of their eyes. They were a procession of wraiths. Axel pushed people aside as he saw them, but Petra’s hands were gentle, whispered apologies close behind.

They passed beneath a tree with drooping, crooked branches, nearly invisible in the dark. Two shadowed figures stood with their backs to the road and palms to each other’s cheeks, swiping rhythmically as the tears fell. The shorter one convulsed.  _You’re alive,_ Petra wanted to tell them. _You’re alive._

Quiet sobs rose as the wagons rumbled past, and when the canvas curtain shivered Petra thought she saw a boot poking from beneath it, the ankle twisted and wrong. Was this the part wagon? Or for the bodies? Casualty Recovery had been picking up parts on the field: raggedly shorn arms, a half-torso. It seemed inexplicably grotesque until she remembered their families – they’d want something back, something more than a cloak, wouldn’t they?  Something to bury or burn, something to mourn. Her father would. Nausea crawled up her throat.

The Walls, she thought, the Walls and what lay on the other side – the people who had died, the pieces of them strewn in the grass. Pieces caught between those rictus smiles, rows of teeth wider than she was tall. She had wanted to fight for humanity, hadn’t she? She had wanted this.

Martin was shivering, and his pitted gaze twitched at each sound – each snapping twig, every footstep. She made sure he saw her hands before she set one on his shoulder, light as a sigh, and she felt his sparrow-boned frame quivering. She knew she should tell him something encouraging, but for once she had nothing encouraging to say; all she could do was hold his shoulder and tremble with him.

She didn’t have enough hands. Clean patches striped the dirt on Wil’s cheeks, patterned beneath her wild eyes. Auruo stared at nothing and no one. He was far away in his head, she knew; he would notice only if she took his hand, or led him by the arm. Her own tingled; more than anything, she wanted to grip him tightly, feel the jut of his wrist digging into her palm, breathe some life into him. _Come back,_ she thought. _You’re alive too._

Oskar could be alive. He could be wounded, he really could. They’d find him his lanky form sprawled among the other injured, battered and bloodied and hurt, his long hair hopelessly tangled and dirty beyond belief, but alive. He would even smirk at them, and lift his hand to give a single wave, like he had after he’d sprained his ankle during one of their training marches. She believed that.

A crowd milled around the entrance of the infirmary. Some looked up when they heard the sound of approaching footsteps, but most kept their gazes trained toward the illuminated doorway, where within they could see shadowed figures every few moments, moving quickly across the room. Axel tried to slip through the crowd but one of the soldiers cut him off roughly, his eyes hard. “You wait like all of us.”

Axel stared at the man, not comprehending, so Petra hurried quickly to his side and touched his arm, pulling him away. “We’re sorry,” she said. “We didn’t know.”

“Come on,” Wil said, at his other side. “You dumbass. Just wait your turn, like everyone else.” Said with the certainty that inside lay their friend, recovering from his wounds.

So they waited. The grieving in the courtyard had begun to subside, so they could barely hear it anymore; Petra had to strain to catch even the louder voices, strident in the gloom – the lucky reserve, searching for friends among the survivors, lovers among the wounded. But she could feel it on the charged air, somehow, like the crackling on your skin just before a storm breaks and the rain falls.

They waited a few paces away from the rest, huddling by a row of shoddy fence posts. Someone had strung sheets over the windows of the infirmary, another layer over the curtains to keep the warm air in and the dust out, but agonized moaning still poured outside, peppered with howls of agony from pain she could only begin to imagine. After a while, Wil put her hands over her ears.

Petra got to her knees and rubbed Wil’s back, as gently as she could. Before, she might have noticed that her friend didn’t relax or take her hands away from her ears, but here Petra didn’t expect it. It wasn’t about fixing, what she did. 

Distantly, she marveled at her lack of reaction. She had seen people die, and had nearly died herself. She had been terrified, humiliated, brought low and saved at the last possible moment by someone she hadn’t even recognized, too overwhelmed to thank him. The man had shouted something at her before riding off into the darkness. She hadn’t seen him again.

But those gruesome things lived on the other side of the Wall. Wil was right here, slumping beneath her hand, trying not to cry. Auruo’s shoulder bumped against hers in time with his unsteady breathing, and at his other side Martin pulled his knees against his chest, head tipping down. Axel paced the length of the fence, back and forth, without a glance in any direction but the doorway.  She willed her roaring thoughts to quiet, but the memories pulled at her, stealing her words.

With a steadying breath, she gripped Wil and Auruo’s hands tightly, nudging across the gap to hook Martin’s ankle with her foot. Catching on, Auruo slipped around to grip Martin’s shoulder, the same silent support. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words, and despaired mutely at her uselessness. In these dark moments she was at her best; she could find hope even in the worst of circumstances, no matter what. But now she had nothing, nothing to give, nothing left. She had chosen this, hadn’t she?

It was a little after two bells when the last of the wagons rolled in, and another half hour when a blood-spattered figure swept out of the infirmary, paper in hand. The moaning from the windows was quieter now, but Petra could only hear snippets from the front, the healer’s dialogue with the waiting soldiers. She fixed the list outside the door and abruptly the crowd surged toward it, a buzzing clamor descending over the courtyard.

Axel plowed ahead; she saw his light brown hair glinting orange in the torchlight, a head above the rest. He wouldn’t have to strain to see the list of names, to find Oskar’s on it, yet seconds lengthened into minutes and Axel did not move. He remained even when the crowed began to thin, when the sound of weeping rose and fell, even when a girl broke down completely at his side, dropping to her knees and screaming that she needed to see Emmaline now, she couldn’t wait another moment –

“She was right there,” the girl sobbed, clutching fistfuls of lank blonde hair. “She was right behind me.”

Oskar had been right behind her. He’d called out something, but she hadn’t heard what it was over the roaring in her ears. Sweat plastered his dark bangs across his brow, and his ragged ponytail swung over one shoulder before whipping behind him. They followed a green column of smoke before the rain swept it away.

She knew what Axel’s motionlessness meant.

“No,” Wil said, and her fingers twitched against Petra’s. She surged to her feet, hands fisted at her sides; buzzing, shivering, yet frozen.  

But Petra couldn’t reply; as hope died away, the enormity of their loss took its place: a shape taller than their friend, louder than his voice. It was the shadow of his life, and all the days of it unlived. Auruo shifted at her side and slung an arm around her shoulders, and without thinking she sagged against him. His cheek bulged as he chewed on his tongue, that familiar gesture, and his grip on her shoulder tightened when she covered her mouth, choking on her tears.

Oskar, she thought. He wasn’t on the list, and he wasn’t inside. He hadn’t been on a wagon. _He was right behind me._

When she looked up again, Axel was staring at her, and she couldn’t help but to flinch at that burning, desperate gaze. “You,” he said, his voice strange. Hollow.

 _Me?_ She didn’t understand.

“You – you and him, you rode off together. You were – he was right behind you. _He was right behind you!”_

“Axel –“

“What happened?” A muscle in Axel’s eyelid twitched, his mouth twisting with something unfamiliar and dark, spitting the words like knives. “What happened to him? Did he die? Did you see it happen? Did you let us all think he might be alive this whole time–“

“ _Shut up_ ,” Auruo snarled.

Martin was at his side instantly. “That’s enough. Both of you, that’s --”

“That’s not what happened!” she interjected, shivering. “It’s – it’s l-like you said, he was right behind –“

“He do his thing?” He do something brave because _you_ did something stupid, or you screwed up again, or something? What business do you have here anyway, you got a six – a _six_! You think that’s any –“

She didn’t notice Auruo get to his feet until he’d already launched himself at the larger boy, planting two hands on his chest and shoving hard. It made no matter that Axel was nearly four inches taller and at least fifty pounds heavier; Auruo’s anger went beyond words, empowered him beyond himself. He stood with shoulders hiked and fists half-raised, lapsing into the stance she knew like her own hands, her own skin. It didn’t fit here, at first; it belonged on sunlight streets, the din of the market no more than a buzz on the air, tinged with oncoming summer. But she remembered: _I’ll have your back, and you’ll have mine._

 _“Shut the fuck up!”_ he hissed finally, shaking.

“You got a seven, Axel,” Martin said, snatching Auruo by the arm and yanking him back. “So did Oskar. I got a two. What business do we have here?” His expression hardened, and Petra saw that he was no longer trembling. “What business does anyone?”

Axel didn’t seem to hear this. He scrubbed at his face, so violently that it reopened the cut on his forehead, and fixed them with that hollow, burning stare. And she didn’t recognize him; not without his closet of smiles, without Oskar smirking at his back. “What am I going to tell them?” he whispered, hands clenching into fists again and again. “W-what am I –“

The silence lengthened, then broke; a strangled sound caught at the back of his throat, a shudder as the truth sank in. Before she could touch his arm and tell him that she understood, that she might have said the same, that anyone would have, he staggered away from them, stumbling in the opposite direction of their barracks, soon swallowed by the dark.  

~

There was a loose routine to this night, for all its disorganization. The four of them wandered to their barracks and found some clean clothes before heading back to the showers. They waited in line with the rest of their empty-eyed comrades; some who shivered, some who silently wept, some who stood unmoving, staring at the cracks in the wall.

“He’s an idiot,” Wil muttered viciously at her side, voice trembling. “He’s so fucking stupid. What was he expecting, really? For the fucking Titans to roll out the runner or something? Invite them for tea? He’s so fucking stupid, he just – he just decided, on a fucking mark, oh well Let’s Join the Fucking Survey Corps, what could possibly go wrong?! We’ll be big fucking heroes, he and Oskar, making these stupid fucking – just deciding on their own, just –“

Petra groped for her hand and gripped it tightly. She had no words, nothing to say, but she had this.

Her eyes drifted shut. Now, the battlefield beyond the Walls loomed differently in her mind; somehow more terrible. She thought of Oskar riding at her side as he fired the signal pistol, touching two fingers to his brow in a half-salute. Oskar with his grin taut, eyes wide. Ahead of them, just barely discernable on the horizon, were the Walls.  

He’d been right behind her …

They were at the back of the line, so when it was finally their turn the showers were nearly empty. Auruo and Martin drifted to the other side, but not before Auruo brushed the back of her hand, fingers quivering. In the distance, she heard three tolls of the bell; halfway through the night watch.

“He’s so fucking stupid,” Wil raged under the stream of freezing water, all tight, furious gestures. “He – I bet he deserted. I bet that stupid piece of shit tucked tail and ran back home. He doesn’t – they don’t even tell us – he’s just gone, he’s just –“

A dull pang in her gut.

On the other side of the partition, she could hear voices. Martin and Auruo, arguing: “How do you think you’d feel if Petra was the one who’d been lost, and Oskar the last person to see her? What would you have said to him? What would you have done?”

“It’s not the same.”

Martin’s voice went knife sharp. “Don’t be cruel.”

But it was the same, she knew; it was the same when you lost a partner, no matter what kind. Auruo did not speak again.

She stood under the icy water until it ran clean, methodically scrubbing at the dirt and grime and blood, the shame and sorrow. Scrubbing at her silence, when her words were needed most. She scrubbed until her arms were raw and pink, and the freckles on her chest looked like wounds, pinpricks against her skin.  

“Petra?” It was Auruo’s voice, echoing. She realized she was alone.

“Sorry.” She shuddered, fumbled for the spigot. “I’m almost done.”

Normally, bathing always cheered her up, for nothing felt impossible when she was clean, buffed and shining, ready to face the world with a smile. But as she slipped her shirt over her head, the fabric scraped against her prickling flesh, rough as sandpaper; she felt somehow raw and irrevocably soiled, and the world would see it plain, right through her to what lay beneath.

This was not how soldiers behaved. The evidence otherwise filled the compound, hollow-eyed and distant or weeping into their cloaks. Over the last three months, she had seen for herself how unlike soldiers they were, the shining ideal that lived in her mind. She’d hoped these were idiosyncrasies, quirks that belied the true steel beneath. But they were just people, broken people, dressed like soldiers.

Everyone was waiting outside; Martin solemn, Wil ragged-eyed and bouncing. But Auruo’s expression stuck to her, cut her close – his brows tented, the lines on either side of his mouth etched more deeply than she’d ever seen. He wasn’t far away in his head anymore. He was drinking her in, worrying wrinkles into his brow, thinking, thinking, always pulling it apart in his thoughts. That felt right. He always came back for her.

“Are you okay?” Martin asked quietly.

She made herself smile, and it only seemed a little forced. She knew how to do that much, at least. “I’m fine.”

When they finally left the bathhouse, the compound was nearly empty. Only a few scattered voices could be heard now, and there was no more wailing, or even weeping. She thought it was monstrous, as dirty as she was, until she realized they must have all gone inside by now – to their barracks, or to the mess hall for something hot.

“Let’s get some tea,” she said on a sudden whim. “Or mead. I think they have that too.” And it made sense; a hot drink wouldn’t ease their grief, but it would at least warm away the battlefield chill, still sunk deep in their bones.

“That’s a good idea,” Martin agreed. “I could use some, anyway.”

“Whatever,” Wil said, and she pivoted sharply away, kicking at the grass. “What does it matter? Why do they even have this shit, why not just put us all in a fucking matchbox and only take us out when they have to throw us at the fucking Titans again? Why waste, right Auruo? Martin? You guys and your fucking waste. Well, here’s the waste! Why even feed us, if it’s going to be wasted in the end? Why spend all that fucking money on uniforms and horses and all this other fucking stupid shit, when it doesn’t do anything? Why even fucking bother?!”

“Wil,” said Petra softly, reaching for her shoulder again.

Wil shook her off. “You know he worked this shit out before he even told us. Remember? With that shitty wine in the attic, the one that he found. That was a year ago, right? Almost a year. He just sat there thinking on it, probably sat on it for months, and never said anything to us – just let us think we were gonna get out of this shithole, finally. Like we were going to just let him go off on his own! That _asshole_. That fucking _asshole_!”

Petra knew her friend well enough to understand; as her volume climbed, her voice began to crack – the wall of anger, behind which she kept her pain. “What an asshole. That piece of _shit!_ How dare he?! We’re fucking stuck here in this shitty hellhole, and he’s off the hook, n-no more shit, no more nothing. And it was his fucking idea! Idiot asshole Oskar, just sitting there with his stupid smirk, like he knows it all. What a laugh! Did you know this was going to happen, you s-stupid fuck?! Who’s going to find shit, now that --

She slowed. Her body convulsed as the sob tore from her, a sound of furious, terrible regret. This time she did not flinch away from Petra’s hand, nor her embrace. “I yelled at him,” she howled against Petra’s shoulder. “I said his head was misshapen.”

What could she say to that? It was the truth. Wil had yelled and called him names, and Oskar had shrugged and smiled that mysterious smile, and that was the last of it. “He knew how you really felt,” Petra heard herself reply, her voice thick.

“What’s Axel going to say to them? How’s he going to explain this – not only did their only kid up and decide to join the fucking goddamn Suicide Corps, he went and died the first time out? Where’s Axel going to live? What if they kick him out, because – what if they stop writing him letters and get rid of all his stuff, he won’t have anywhere to go back to, he –“

Auruo shot Martin an arched brow, and it mirrored her own confusion. “What?”

Abruptly, Wil tore out of Petra’s arms, shifting her weight from right to left. The shame shuffle, Petra had called it, when they were young. “I – nothing. I’m -- just talking shit, y-you know.” She gave a shaky laugh, still wet from tears. “I’m gonna look for Axel. You – just get your hot drink or whatever. Just –“ And she stumbled off into the dark, like Axel had done before.

Martin turned to face them, eyes wide. “What are they talking about?”

~

The mess hall was nearly empty when the three of them arrived; only a few isolated groups remained, with one solitary figure huddled in the corner, mead clenched between dark hands. He spilled a little on himself every time he lifted the mug to his lips.

At first, she’d thought to get them all some tea – there was something so comforting about the taste, she could never put her finger on it – but when she passed the casks another flash of inspiration took hold. Before anyone could convince her otherwise, she snatched a trio of mugs from the table and filled hers nearly to the brim. Sweetness tickled her nostrils, accompanied by the tang of alcohol. Auruo surprised her by filling his own with the same.

They found a table well out of the way, but close enough to torchlight that she could see their faces. After the battlefield -- the darkness of that final push, the horde in the shadows, mud slowing their pace to a slog as they strained for the safety of the Walls – she couldn’t trust mere proximity. Oskar had been right behind her, and now he was gone.

She was about to take a desperate gulp when Martin spoke first. He lifted his mug solemnly, his grey eyes impenetrable as stone. “To Oskar.”

It would have been better if the five of them were here. It would be better if none of this had happened at all. She lifted her own, then Auruo, and the three of them toasted their dead in silence.  

~

She was on her second mug of mead when the stories began. Finally, the alcohol had folded a little warmth into her frozen bones, eased the frozen smile from her face. Soon it gave way to something a little more genuine, a little more bittersweet, and it had done the same for them.

“Remember the one time Axel made him mad?” Auruo asked. “He wouldn’t talk to him for a couple days.”

“Talk?” Petra said, almost smiling.

“Aw c’mon, you know what I mean. He wouldn’t snicker or smirk at the stuff he said.”

She took another sip, savoring pointedly to ward away the question burning at the back of her throat. “Even when he was mad, he was still sweet about it. He’d never say anything awful in anger, even if you’d really upset him.”

“How crazy is it that Axel only managed to piss this guy off once?” Auruo said. “He pisses me off every other day.”

“Well, you’re not very patient.”

“I’m not, huh?! Nice!”

It was a little desperate, his bid for their usual banter, but she took it gratefully. “Don’t be a child. You know you're not.”

“Do I really gotta remind you how long I waited for –“ He trailed off – neither his wait to join the Survey Corps or the years he spent waiting for her were appropriate topics of conversation for the moment.

Martin cut in smoothly. “Remember the time he took Konrad’s knives?”

“I yelled at him about ‘em, right before he did.” Auruo’s laugh was hardly more than a whisper.  “We got so sick and tired of that asshole flipping them around all the time, trying to show off. You know he got off on freaking people out.”

“It was right after he threatened Johanna, remember?”

“Yeah … so he ever tell you where he hid them?”

“He sold them.” Martin’s grin was a little sly. “Not very ethical, I suppose.”

Auruo stared. “How the hell did he manage that?”

“He wouldn’t say. I gathered he didn’t want to involve me, should it turn into trouble. As if I couldn’t handle myself in subterfuge.”

“Shit …” Auruo muttered, carding a hand through his fluffy hair, somehow already dry. “How much cool stuff did he do and never tell anyone about?”

Martin’s small smile faltered. She knew what he was thinking, what they were all thinking. “Sorry,” Auruo said to his hands.

“But this is what he would have wanted,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “He didn’t do these kinds of things for the attention. Remember how much he hated when we caught him trying to fix the jacket you ripped? And he loved being mysterious too.” Her eyes burned, but she managed a breathy laugh. “He’d be very pleased with himself right now, listening to us.”  

And she could see him clearly; his face peeking over Axel’s shoulder, brows lifted in delight. He was only frightening if you didn’t know him, if you’d never seen what lay beneath those cold features, heavy brow and thin mouth, pressed in a line. She remembered him flashing the full effect of those features on those that annoyed him, those who violated his deeply held code. He would have been better somewhere else, she thought angrily. An orphanage, leaving ginger root in cupboards for upset stomachs. A farm, a little hamlet with a little shop, someplace uncomplicated and kind. He would have been better anywhere else.

“You’re right,” Martin said, and he smiled too. But Auruo only stared at her with an expression she didn’t understand; incredulous frustration and alarm, concern dark in those familiar hazel eyes. She took another pull of mead and looked away.

The gathered soldiers had exhausted their monthly alcohol requisition by five bells. He’d only had two mugfuls, but Auruo swayed in place and nudged her feet every few moments, like he’d done when they were children. Belatedly, she realized that he’d never had alcohol before, and in normal circumstances feared its effects. She swallowed the impulse to reach across the table for his hand, press comfort into his palm, just above the scar. _Beyond reproach_ , they had said. It seemed disrespectful, nearly transgressive, to remember that now.

“I’m going to head back,” Martin said, unsteadily getting to his feet. “Should try and rest for a few hours before morning roll. Are you coming?”

“I don’t think I could sleep,” Petra said with an apologetic smile, and she reached across to squeeze his fingers. “See you soon.”

They watched him go until he pushed out into the night, swallowed an instant later. Visceral fear knifed through her stomach. Logically, she knew – they were safe now, they were on the right side of the Walls, and it was okay to let someone out of your sight. She knew that.

“Can we go?” she asked suddenly. “Not back, just …”

“Sure,” Auruo said, just as immediate. “Y-yeah.”

It wasn’t nearly as dark as she’d assumed a moment ago, watching Martin leave. The air was cool, and the horizon had faded to the color of an old bruise, diffuse green and blue bleeding to black. She could see Auruo’s face in this light, the worried angle of his brows and mouth; she could feel the exact dimension of his presence, his shuffling gait, the heat of his hands never far. He shadowed her as they meandered through the compound, together and alone.

It struck her then, how far away they were from anything. Trost was a distant blur in her memory; even the mess hall felt remote as a star. Karanese might have been in another dimension. She tried to think of her father’s shop, the scent of baking bread thick on the air, mingling somehow with sunlight, but it existed in some other girl’s memory, some gentler person, and she couldn’t find its shape.  

Without warning, without even looking for someone who could be watching, Auruo gently took her by the wrist and led her to an alley between buildings. It wasn’t the same one from the first night – this one was wider across, better lit, yet the extra distance made no matter; as soon as they were out of sight, Auruo turned to face her, hands hovering anxiously. His eyes hurt to look at.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” she said, and smiled so he wouldn’t worry.

But the gesture didn’t soothe; if anything it actually seemed to upset him more. He took her arms and traced circles there, his brows twitching low. “You … you don’t have to do that anymore.”

“What?”

“You’ve been doing this Petra shit all night and I hate it.”

Now she really didn’t understand. “You hate it?”

“N- that’s not what I meant. Geez . . . I just – you’re doing this shit where it’s all about everyone else all the time, and you’re sitting there and – you don’t have to do that right now. With – with me. Alright?” She realized he was trembling again. “You don’t ever have to with me.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Have I really been doing that?”

And he was swiping at her cheeks with his thumbs like the soldiers under the tree, quivering so hard that his knees knocked against hers. And it didn’t fit here, none of this was how it should have been: his eyes painfully bright, expression crumpling with the same thing snarled in her own chest, the same terrible knowledge. They had chosen this, hadn’t they? He pulled her roughly into his arms.

He shuddered and she cried, and swallowed no more – Oskar and his absence, Wil and Axel’s grief, somehow mutual and separate. The extremes made her ache.

They ran their hands over each other, hungrily – frantic to know that everything was still there. The heft of his shoulder in her palm, the planes of his chest, his hips and stomach. He was all right, she reminded herself; he was alive. The sight of him, the entire sum; he was still here. He was right in front of her.

She was too rough when she gripped his thigh, and he gasped. “Bruise,” he said, but he had already resumed his own desperate inventory before she could apologize. Soon his lips followed where his hands had been, somehow more insistent – her nose, her eyelid, the corner of her mouth. It was the same, the same deafening need; paradoxically, she found herself wishing that they were still children, when they had been the same height and she could cover all of him with all of her. She had to really work at it now.

“How am I s’posed to do this?” he whispered raggedly against the side of her head. “When you’re on the other side, or we get separated, or whatever other shit. What if we’re never in the same squad? I gotta – I gotta try and keep my ass alive, and just keep my fingers crossed that nothing happens to you while I’m at it, right? I can’t – that’s not -- how am I s’posed to look out for you? How am I …”

She sobbed, gripping fistfuls of his jacket. “But it’s going to be me looking out for you.”

His pulled her close enough to hurt, his head pressed so tightly to her neck that she could feel his eyelashes were wet. She cupped a hand to the back of his neck and held him, brushing the mole on the back of his neck with her fingers, remembering how many times she had wanted to do so. That was the same too. Soon, they would have to scrub at their cheeks and wipe their red eyes and leave this place, but for now she could hold him tightly and know that he was alive, that he was hers and she was his.

And he smelled clean and safe, and his arms were just like she knew. He smelled of home in summer, from a thousand years ago.

~

For all the disorganized confusion of hours before, when it was time for the morning roll, the remaining soldiers of the Survey Corps assumed their positions on the field. They stood at parade rest while the numbers were taken, and did not speak amongst themselves or glance at their neighbors, even when the Commander cut smoothly through the ranks, immaculate as a new coin.

Yet a hiss rose up, a groan, a charge on the air; in formation, the magnitude of their loss was brutally apparent. Axel closed his eyes, tears pouring down his cheeks, but Petra did not cry. She stood motionless and swallowed her grief, as a good soldier must.


	32. Chapter 32

The Survey Corps headquarters lay nearly silent, though it was midday in late July, a noisy combination. The heat bore oppressively down on the repurposed hamlet, and on the horizon stormclouds tumbled over one another like eager, clumsy children. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Auruo’s face, but he didn’t bother to wipe it away. Instead he brought his hand to the crest on his jacket, absently tracing the wings.

The course shouldn’t be so empty. He craned around, squinting into the forest for any sign of his comrades, listening for the sound of rattling cables in flight, but there was only dull, hot silence – not even a birdcall pierced the quiet. The members of the Survey Corps were told to rest on the first day after an expedition, especially considering their ordeal, but Auruo needed to train. As far as he was concerned, fifteen minutes of work on the course might mean the difference between life and death, not to mention an entire afternoon, and he wasn’t about to get caught with his pants down again.

He craned around, this time for any prying eyes, especially those belonging to an officer, before slipping inside the enclosure.

 “Bossard,” came a firm voice, startling him so badly he jumped. It was Squad Leader Brandt; she leaned against the fence a few paces away, in the one place he’d failed to look. Her legs were extended and ankles crossed, puffing resolutely on a pipe. In the oppressive daylight, her dark hair nearly shone. “Get out of there.”

“Sir,” he managed, fumblingly. “I just – I meant to –“

“I know what you meant to do, and I’m telling you not to do it. Come back out and close up. That’s an order.”

He felt mutinous words rise at the back of his throat, and she must have sensed them for her brow quirked and lips twisted; perhaps she’d find his rebellion amusing, and the retribution more so. Biting the edge of his tongue, he clambered out of the enclosure and stared at the scuffed toes of his boots, features pinched with barely suppressed temper. “Yes, sir.”

He’d been about to stomp off somewhere else – to climb a tree or sprint across the field a few dozen times or chase one of the mousers or something – when she stopped him again, pushing off the back of the fence. “Come with me. We’re gonna have a talk.”

His stomach knotted at her tone. “That an order too, sir?”

“Yeah, smartass. Hop to it.”

Scowling, he kicked the gate shut and hurried in her wake. She made no effort to clarify what the hell she wanted from him, and he was suddenly certain that she’d seen his defiance on the field, though he barely remembered disobeying the order. Grim certainty settled over him; this time, he’d have to keep his stupid mouth shut if he was going to get out of this relatively unscathed. His thoughts whirled with possibility – appropriate excuses, rationalizations that might justify such a lapse in judgment, when safety had been so near.

Though as he followed her through the compound, watching the stiff line of her back grow more rigid with each step, resignation replaced his certitude, seeping down to his bones like a damp chill. He’d fucked up. He was going to get it, regardless.

The courtyard was deserted. Voices drifted from the open windows of the mess hall, but otherwise they didn’t see a soul on their way to the officers’ quarters. Auruo kept his gaze straight and steady, but it loomed too large, stuck at the corner of his eye: a column of black smoke, staining the horizon.

Brandt’s quarters were so unremarkable that there was almost no indication anyone lived here at all. What few books she owned were stacked neatly in a threadbare shelf, and her desk was nearly immaculate – the only sign of wear a long gash marring the polished wood. He almost thought she’d recently moved in when he caught a glimpse of a sketch sticking out between a pile of notebooks – a woman Brandt’s age, with a full mouth and cutting eyes. It was the woman who’d posted the list of survivors outside the infirmary, he remembered. She’d left bloody fingerprints on the paper.

He blinked away quickly. He didn’t want to feel sorry for Brandt, or find any common ground – he wanted to hit something, wanted to scream. He wanted to run away.

Brant settled heavily, rummaging around the drawers before producing a cheesecloth and smoothing it over the desk. She sniffed, a brusque, rude sound, arranging a large silver needle and three black pots in precise fashion. Always, her hands were steady as stone. “You’re not squeamish, are you?”

He stared. “What?”

“Squeamish. You gonna throw up if I do this right now?”

With a sick jolt, he realized what she meant. Her tattoos were impressive, even beautiful in a strange, stark kind of way, but thinking too long about how she crafted them made the back of his neck prickle. He wouldn’t watch. “No,” he snapped. “Sir.”

Without further ado, she rolled up her left sleeve and swabbed an unmarked stretch of skin on her forearm, her lips pursing. Before long, the bracing stink of alcohol and ash hung in the thick air, and Auruo had to bite the side of his tongue to keep from wavering. He wouldn’t look, wouldn’t stare –

“Not surprised to see you out of your rack, since you apparently think the orders from your superiors are suggestions.” She fixed him with an implacable stare. “Explain yourself.”

His incredulity rendered him speechless. Was she stupid? What the hell else would he be doing on the course the day after they returned from that horrifying disaster? Did she think he was sneaking around for the hell of it, because disobedience amused him? It took him a moment to cobble together a response from his outrage. “I – I told you, sir, I wanted to train –“

“I’m talking about the expedition,” she interrupted him, and jabbed the needle into her forearm, ignoring his flinch. “I’ve heard three separate accounts of your little display. Now, I remember giving you an order to head for the gate without engaging anything unnecessary. Imagine my confusion.”

“You’re sure it was unnecessary, huh?” he retorted. “Sir.”

“It wasn’t attacking you – it wasn’t even anywhere near you.”

“It wasn’t near anyone else, either!”

She was quiet for a long time, bent over her arm; in the silence, he could almost hear the needle pierce her skin. A cold sweat crept to his brow. “So why did you do it?” she asked. Her needle moved almost too quickly for him to see now.

The realization hit him like a slap; she knew. She knew exactly why.

“Who else was gonna?!” he demanded, fury beating in his chest. “Should I just let the fuckin’ thing at whoever, ‘cause the gate’s in view and I’m almost safe? You – you telling me that’s what we’re s’posed to do, here? Just look out for number one, huh?”  It wasn’t fair, he thought viciously – it wasn’t right, not the way it was supposed to be. He’d made a promise without knowing it was impossible, but that didn’t relieve him of its weight. Nothing would.

Her head snapped up, and the intensity of her gaze pinned him to the floor. She was burning, barely contained; beneath the silver needle in her hand, a black whorl took shape. “ _That’s not what you did,”_ she said, in a voice he’s never heard before, a voice like molten steel _. “_ You flung your stupid ass at an Aberrant without thinking, without signaling for an assist. You charged into a dangerous fucking situation without even considering your attack or the opponent. From what I gather, it nearly killed you a dozen times before you finished the job. You know why? Because you’re a goddamn greenhorn with a grand total of one expedition under your belt, one you’re lucky to have survived, considering your stupid fucking -- you carry on like that, you’ll be dead inside a year.”

“What the hell does it matter to you?” he snapped before he could stop himself. “You pulling in all the dumbass recruits here, giving them the same –“

“Bullshit?”  Her lips curled, almost a grin, _almost_ , and he’d never hated anyone more than he hated Squad Leader Brandt. “Watch your tone.”

“… Yes, sir.”

Brandt said nothing. His roiling temper reared, almost too large to contain. _How dare she_ , he seethed. She’d thrown herself at the Titan when he and Wil had been in trouble, without a thought to herself or her comrade. He’d seen it with his own fucking eyes – it was one of few memories etched in the back of his skull, bursting with detail: (Rain pinging on the blades; a tendril of dark hair streaked to her brow as she sliced through the Titan, an avatar of purest wrath; the cold and the wet, the violent thudding of his heart, smashing his ribs to splinters).

She sighed. “I brought you here to try and knock some sense into your thick goddamn skull, since you’re stupid in the same way I was, and I figure I speak the language pretty fucking well. So listen: I don’t ever want to see or hear about you hurling your thoughtless ass at a Titan ever again, you understand me? You engage something, you do it with more than an impulse.”

“On the spot, huh?” he said without thinking. “Draw up some strategy in the split second I got before something happens, right? Weigh the pros and fuckin’ cons when something’s reaching for my partner. That’s how you do it?”

“That’s how the smart ones do it. Saints on a spit, do you ever shut your fucking mouth?”

“No, sir.”

He braced for the explosion. Dozens of similar lectures bristled in his memory –  Brandt, red-faced, flinging sharp words toward whichever hapless idiot was stupid enough to attract her ire – but the corner of her mouth drew up – a grimace, almost. A grin. He couldn’t tell. “Learn to.”

The old contrary impulse rose in him, and he squashed it only through an act of supreme will. How easy, how _funny_ , would it have been to say something, even just a ‘yessir’, even a snort of laughter, even a breath. How satisfying that would have been.

“Now,” Brandt said, the needle bobbing in her hand. “I am _ordering_ _you_ to get your smart ass in your rack, immediately. Do not go to train, do not go to mess or shower, do not write another fucking five-hour letter to your family. Yeah, I know you do that. You are to get in your rack and lay there and close your eyes and do _nothing_.”

“You can’t order me to sleep,” he snapped, furious with her meddling, even more furious that she’d leveraged her rank to enforce it, wrapping them in orders he couldn’t refuse.

He expected her to finally punish him for his insubordination, he _wanted_ her to, but instead her expression softened. The effect was worse on her hard features, somehow; imperceptible but unbearably sympathetic, more terrible than the Titans themselves. “It’ll be better after the first sleep, Bossard.”

He wanted to scream at her. He wanted to cry. “Am I dismissed?”

 “Yeah,” she said, and that terrible understanding seemed to deepen. “I’ll know if you don’t, by the way. Klossner will tell me.”

She was right. He would have to; he might even tell her without being prompted. That was the worst part. Without another word, Auruo turned on his heel and stormed from her office, eyes burning, throat tight. He was halfway back to his shed when it occurred to him that while the rest of the compound slept, she hadn’t been resting either. She’d known exactly where to find him.

_What a fucking hypocrite._

~

Barely an hour had passed. The sun still loomed high; Auruo’s shadow hovered almost directly beneath his feet, as if anxious to distance itself. The sight infuriated him, as everything did. Temper festered in his chest like a gangrenous hand, pulsing black through his veins, dark thoughts circling. He had wanted to outrun them, exhaust them – he’d wanted to lose himself in the consuming operation of his body: weight balanced through his hips and feet, blades turned to minimize resistance, intent bristling in every fiber and sinew. Divorced of its context, it would have been a great comfort.

He shoved into the shed and ignored his traitorous friend, who he didn’t give a shit about, who he’d just as soon never speak to again. He didn’t care, he didn’t care; he didn’t care about anything. He had no memory to anchor him, or drive to fuel him – he was adrift, perched on the edge of some unbearable precipice, and he would not look.

Martin scribbled intently in his notebook –a list, and some diagram in the shape of a hand –  but he looked up when the door slammed. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Auruo snapped, hauling himself up. “Make sure you mention that when you report everything I do to Brandt.”

To his credit, Martin said nothing. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before the sound of pencil scratching resumed, measured as always. _Of course_ , Auruo thought nastily, rolling onto his side and staring daggers at the wall – nothing upset Martin. He’d recovered almost instantly after the expedition, trembling and wide-eyed for only an hour or so before lapsing back into his smooth affect: distant, clinical curiosity, soft concern and steel. He’d been the one to break up the fight, the one to suggest a shower, the only one with a head on his shoulders. 

Auruo knew what waited for him, and he would fight it as long as he could. He wrenched his eyes wide, counting the whorls and lines in the grain of wood, counting backwards from a thousand, and then up by multiples of three. He thought of his family’s expenses and weighed them in his mind – saving for wool they would need in winter, stockpiling oats and potatoes, grain and flour, whatever salt they could afford. His mother wanted basil – ‘Just think what I could do with it …’ she’d lamented in her letters, but spice was exorbitantly priced, a province of the comfortable middle class and above. He thought about everything, aching and wounded and wistful – the East Market on Sunday morning, bursting with color and sound, the air thick with the smell of baking bread and livestock. He thought of his brothers in a squabbling procession, poking his ribs and yanking his hair and tumbling underfoot, clamoring for his attention. He though of Benoit’s subdued grin, and his dark eyes narrowed in thought as he read, and the box of his letters under the bunk in his careful, neat handwriting. He thought of what it felt like when Petra took his hand and pulled him through the crowd, intent on some new wonder – wind-up birds, strange dishes from the north, scale models of Karanese, a milky-eyed woman brushing her clever fingers over a fountain the size of a thimble. He remembered the first time he heard Petra really laugh, unselfconsciously, hiccuping with glee, and he remembered how red her face had gotten when he teased her about it; mad enough to pinch his ear, tackle him to the ground, and tickle him until tears of laughter poured down his cheeks, and he was forced to beg for mercy. He thought of the old man with the library in his mind, the pond they’d found once and the summer he’d taught her how to swim, the night they’d snuck out and climbed onto the roof of her house. Petra had brought a blanket, and they reclined as comfortably as they could with shingles digging into their backs, watching the stars unfurl across the sky, a banner stitched with darkness and light. He thought of her hand, the heat of her palm pressing warmth into his, her gasp of delight when a star fell – that lovely burst of brilliance too soon swallowed by the horizon.

He would have given anything to go back to those days, ones he’d cursed as slow and worthless, so distant from what he thought he wanted. He’d chosen the Survey Corps because he’d known in some deep place that it was right, that it was necessary. And they all deserved that much from him, this one thing he could give. But that burning afternoon he thought of his family, and how young he and Petra had been, and how badly he wanted to return to it all – how desperately he wanted to close his eyes and open them to the small room he and his brothers shared, piled on a threadbare mattress with a kid under each arm, watching motes of dust dance in the sunlight.

~

_In the other room, his mother is making breakfast, and soon their apartment smells of fried potatoes and eggs and cheese, and the spice rack is full, and she wants for nothing. He can hear her whistling merrily, the clatter of pots and pans a charming accompaniment. Benoit snuffles in his sleep, kicking at Auruo’s shins; Christophe rolls on his back and snores, and a little thread of drool dangles from the corner of his open mouth. Etienne bleats in distress until the older boy shoves an elbow in his ribs. It’s spring, and a cool breeze slips through the crack in the window, making the hair on Auruo’s arm prickle and rise; already distant voices waft from down the street – the market in its early throes, barkers unloading their wares and unfurling their banners, gargling salt water and chewing sage so their voices won’t give out. Then, closer voices: his father with coffee, his mother rapping the handle of the spoon on their door. “Réveillez-vous,” she says, laughing. “Tu ne sais rien faire de tes dix doigts.” Such a habit, as routine as a heartbeat; he dresses himself and the brats and calms their sleepy arguments, rubs a bit of dried spit off Christophe’s face with his thumb before mussing his already mussed hair. “Put that down,” he says. “Stop yankin’,” he says. “Don’t make me get Ma.”_

_The door opens and he’s standing in a red field, beneath golden twilight, witch’s rain. The world shimmers wetly, lingers in his lungs; when he stretches out his hands, they seem to make ripples in the air, haloing his labors. Clouds stretch and contract like the pleats of an accordion, and he watches them for a while, head tipped up. A ship, now a cat. A solider. See the swords? But a chill rolls in, the gold fades to grey – the other face of the red world, this field of muck and blood and bone. The trees are barren, branches like skeleton hands pushed up from the abyss, shivering in a dead breeze.  There are soldiers, wasted and withered – soldiers in the trees. They dangle and sway like wind chimes, their hollow bodies ornamental, their dead faces like masks – the comedy, the tragedy, the fool. Their faces are those of the cards, painted by ghosts and whispers; their faces are tombstones, signposts, a story stilled before it could speak. “We’ll look out for each other,” Petra breathes, pressing the words to the back of his neck, her lips waxen and cold. “Right?”_

~

He woke with a ragged gasp. His heart throbbed wildly, as if trying to smash out of his splintered chest, and for a few terrible moments he couldn’t exhale; everything he had seen pressed against him, pulled at him -- the red world was there, still behind his eyes, still waiting –

“Auruo?” came a soft voice.

He let out a shaky breath. Even with his eyes wrenched wide, he could see only vague shapes in the darkness, looming and formless. But Martin was alive and well enough to speak, good enough to care, even when Auruo had been so awful only hours before. His eyes prickled; here was another facet of his unworthiness, his utter lack of value. “Sorry,” he whispered. And he was; he was sorry for everything.

“I was already awake.”

“N-- I mean, I’m s –“

“Come on, enough of that,” Martin said brusquely. “Since you’re awake, do you mind if I pizzicato?”

Auruo could think of nothing he wanted more in the entire world. He took a few more breaths, in for a heartbeat, out for two. “Nah.”

There was some rustling, the familiar latch of a violin case, three pairs of 5ths ringing soft and sure. Without fanfare, Martin plucked a disjointed, mischievous waltz, and Auruo found himself appreciating the plucked version, despite its lack of range. Bowed, it filled the room with warmth, bathed in a tone as pure as the voice of god. Garnished by vibrato, agitated and plaintive, by chords that lit a fire in your bones. But the notes were muted now, slightly separate – they slipped into the world quietly, and left with greater haste.

“What’s the melody?” Martin asked after some time.

So it was to be ear training. After some grudging silence, Auruo hummed the melody back.

A jab from below, through the mattress – his traitorous friend’s foot. “What are their names?”

He hated this part; he’d only known their names for a few years, unlike Martin who had learned from infancy, so it took some time for him to connect the pitch to its name. They lived in his ear, nameless – he knew them by tone, texture, color. He felt them more than heard them. “A – E – C D E – A –G.”

He plucked another phrase. “This one?”

“F – C – A B C – F – E – D.”

“Chord?”

“You can’t tell without the other parts!”

“Yes you can. It’s outlined in the melody.”

Fuck. Fuck chords. Fuck this shit. Auruo groaned, jabbing his heel into the footboard. “A minor seven…”

“To?”

“I dunno. D something. D minor nine?”  

He could almost hear Martin’s satisfied smile. “Acceptable.”

“What an asshole! Am I wrong?”

“You’re right, and slow. You can identify them faster.”

“You a slavedriver in another life or something? Geez! I just learned this shit.”

“Well, it only gets easier with practice.”

Auruo dearly would have liked to jab Martin right back, but such were the drawbacks of the top bunk; he was consigned to suffer without hope for retribution. “Is this how you learn?”

“It’s the only way to learn. My father was even more exacting with me than I am with you.”

Auruo huffed. “Why does it even have to have names and modes and progressions anyway.”

Already Martin was finished; latches popped open, followed by the gentle thud of wood, shivering strings – the violin as he settled it in its case. “Everything needs laws.”

“You think?”

“Yes. In regards to music, a set of rules facilitate easier exchange and collaboration, though the musicians themselves may not speak the same language. They make it easier to learn something, since not everyone can pull it out of their ear like you can. So there’s a system of theory for composition and analysis, and a system of notation.”

“Theory,” Auruo muttered. “How’re you supposed to be creative and compose stuff if you got all this bullshit you have to follow?”

“Well,” Martin said, “why don’t you just string some random words together? You certainly could. Be as creative as possible.”

Auruo already saw where he was going with this. “You little shit.”

“We have a system of language so we can communicate effectively. You wouldn’t just spew five verbs in a row and expect anyone to understand what you were trying to say. And music is the same – you could play something that had no progression, that was just random atonality, and the ear would rebel against it. It would sound just as unnatural.”

“Why, though?”

A pause. “I don’t actually know for sure. I think it’s just the way our minds work. Everything is so random, but people like things to make sense. They like it when words go places, and a line of music leads somewhere. Maybe that’s part of it.”

They thought about this for a long time. Auruo certainly liked it when things made sense, but nothing made sense here; they were supposed to live but marked to die, supposed to find an end to the Titans, but lost a third of their force building a stupid outpost that probably wouldn’t last the year. He felt cheated, deceived, he and all the rest; children on futile crusade.

“I think that’s four bells,” Martin said after a while. “Want to get something to drink? Mess will serve breakfast soon.”

The time startled Auruo – somehow, sunk in the red world, he’d managed to sleep for more than twelve hours. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Lemme get my kit.”

They washed and dressed, arranging their straps and belts as well as they could in the dark. Outside, the storm had truly passed; the sky was clear, studded with stars, gleaming and achingly remote. Faint grey-green light stained the horizon, but Auruo craned up and searched until he found the True Star, the only one with a name. The others spun their slow dance, but the True Star remained fixed overhead, guiding wanderers north.  They’d been taught to use it as a compass if separated from formation, though Auruo could see in their faces that not many had the opportunity to use this advice.

When they’d crossed the field and into the courtyard, Martin settled his hand on Auruo’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. It was one of many gestures in Axel’s gregarious repertoire and one of Oskar’s sole modes of communication, but Martin was more circumspect, and rarely physical. It might have been more natural if he’d smashed his violin on the ground and set its ruins on fire.

“What’s this about?!”

“I’m glad you’re alright.”

Was he so determined to be embarrassing! Auruo shrugged out of his grip, scowling. “Geez. You and Petra, you gotta be moony about everything.”

“Aren’t you glad I’m alright?”

“Geez!”

“You are. So what’s wrong with saying so?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it!”

“Mhm.” Martin smacked his shoulder, hard enough that Auruo stumbled. “That better?” 

Auruo shoved him back, and the pair of them snickered at each other like idiots.

The mess hall was nearly empty, populated only by few isolated soldiers on the benches, and a group at a table in the corner. Auruo recognized two: the loud asshole that had demanded Martin play for them, and the woman he’d danced with, but the others were strangers. They spoke in low voices, drinks left cold and forgotten on the table between them. Their heads lifted in unison when they heard the door open, though after ascertaining the newcomers were only recruits, they turned away and resumed their conversation, craning closer to one another. Their furtive behavior annoyed Auruo, but Martin took it as a challenge.

“You get the tea,” he said, strangely intent.

“Yessir, Commander sir.”

Those on kitchen duty this week were already awake, boiling water and sifting flour over the wooden boards, rummaging around for pots and pans. They made an unholy racket, but there was something encouraging about it too; a recruit actually cracked a smile when one of the veterans made a joke so bawdy it made Auruo’s ears burn. “Any tea left?” he asked one, hopefully. “Still night shift, you know.”

“If you’re fine with the dregs,” said the lewd old-timer. “Help yourself, sprat.”

He did, with only the most perfunctory muttering. Martin wouldn’t care what it tasted like, and he didn’t really either – he’d have just as easily made himself a mug of hot water, but for the fact that black tea brought some life into his bones, made his blood buzz. He’d probably need some of that today.  

Martin had chosen a table two back and one over from where the group held their mysterious conference. Auruo set the tea down and plopped into the seat across with a rude thud, and Martin shot him an irritable look. “Shh.”

“You doing your thing, huh.”

“There’s no thing.”

“Why’re we so far back, then?”

Martin’s expression was a study in exhausted incredulity. “We don’t want to be obvious.”

“Who’s obvious?!”

“Shh!”  Arranging his features from annoyance to fraught anxiety, Martin blew across the rim of his cup and took a sip the way a refugee of life’s cruelties might. “We’re lost in thought. We’re contemplating. We had nightmares and the tea helps. That’s the story.”

“Well, it’s true, anyway.”

“Exactly. It’s a good story. Now shut up.”

It didn’t take them long to pick up the thread of the veterans’ conversation. Perhaps the muffled din from the kitchen encouraged them to be loose with their tone, lax with their volume; perhaps they suffered from similar torments, and spoke to relieve their burden. Whatever the cause, it became quickly apparent these four could have as easily shared a conversation without words, conducted solely in quirks of brow and mouth. Every now and then one would trail off, yet no understanding was lost; another picked up in a completely different place, and the rest followed him perfectly.

“There’s four this year,” said the asshole after the latest stretch of shared quiet, slurping his beer.  “Ain’t that a kick in the pants.”

“That can’t be right …” said the blonde woman.

“Sure as shit. I saw the list, and I saw the MPs. They’re already looking.”

Silence. Martin sat facing the group, as he was better at hiding his emotions behind an expression of his choosing, but even Auruo could sense his mounting curiosity, tinged with desperation he didn’t understand.

“Can you blame them?” said the brunette woman quietly.

Asshole shrugged. “Sure I can.”

“Gelgar.”

“What do you want me to say? I get it, sure. It’s probably smart, if you think about it some. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna give them a pass.”

“They won’t get one, anyway,” said the black-haired man.

More silence, but this time none made a move to break it. A bark of laughter broke out from the kitchen, and a chorus followed, until Auruo could no longer hear his own thoughts, let alone surreptitiously eavesdrop on his superiors. The squad seemed to have gotten the same idea; with matching reproachful looks, they stood and weaved through the tables before pushing outside.

Auruo faced his friend, lips twisting. “What the fuck was that about?” 

Martin’s controlled façade had disappeared entirely, burned away by something wild, dangerously intent. It was the first sign that all might not be well with his friend, that their ordeal had damaged him too. Lurking beneath the surface of his famous composure, he was a madman with a manifesto, a prophet on the trail of his god. And Martin’s god was no deity. “Deserters.”

 

                                                                                                                   


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapter as of 5/11/17 can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1359496/chapters/24184362)

Petra woke to the sound of Wil crying. Her gasps were half-swallowed, muffled by her pillow, and that made it worse somehow; usually she cried like she did everything, as if afraid no one would notice her if she didn’t make it obvious. Pausing only to rub the sleep from her eyes, Petra flung her blanket aside and crawled up into Wil’s bunk, folding her in a firm embrace from behind.    

“It’s alright,” she whispered.   

Wil sniffed noisily, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m fine. It’s hay fever.”  

“Yeah.”   

Slowly, she calmed; her breaths unhitched and fell in time with Petra’s, until they breathed with the murmuring trees outside. Petra knew the shape of her shoulders better than her own sometimes, the landscape of her features; she knew Wil’s closet of voices and laughter, well enough that she could piece together her full mood from parts. But she had never seen this. How could it be that they’d known each other for so long, and under it all were still these undiscovered places, rugged, dangerous territory, impossible to traverse.   

“Don’t tell Axel, alright?”   

“What?”  

A terse breath. “About – this. You know. This shit.”   

 _The crying_. Petra squeezed her tightly. “Of course I won’t.” They both knew it didn’t need to be asked – Petra would take a shared confidence to her grave – but sometimes it felt better to say it anyway. As Wil went loose in her arms, Petra buried her face between her shoulder blades and swallowed the telltale thickness at the back of her throat. This was all she could do, this childish, ineffectual gesture; it wouldn’t fix anything.   

They dressed quickly, though there was no reason to; the morning bell had not yet rung. Reflexively, Petra pulled her hair free from her collar and shook it out, and before she could say anything Wil was braiding it, her fingers cool and trembling. Petra knew it would take a few hours for the nightmare to fade, but soon her hands would steady and the jackal’s grin would reemerge, whether it was sincere or not. She gave the braid a little tug and smiled when Petra turned to look at her, and it was a pale shadow of what it had been before, but better than nothing; always better than nothing.   

Beyond their door the world was still and soft and grey, blanketed by a thin haze. In the distance the rooftops almost looked like mountains, sloping peaks veiled by mist, and the sight made her chest ache. There were stories that a tribe of people lived in the mountains, drawing deeper into the caves and caverns with every passing season. Her father liked to say that they’d carved a road through the very center of the earth, and after a hundred years of digging they’d come out the other side, to some unspoiled place. For a small, childish moment she wished the rooftops really were those mountains, and she could lead them through the long dark to an untouched land.   

It was wrong to want that. They were soldiers now, and a soldier didn’t run from their duty.   

Wil took a deep breath and turned her face up to the grey sky, throwing her arms wide. “I wish it would rain. Don’t you feel how heavy everything is? I feel like I’m inhaling soup.”   

Petra nudged her heel. “What kind of soup?”   

“Pea soup. You know, something appropriately disgusting.”   

“Pea soup isn’t disgusting.”   

“What the hell is wrong with you?! Pea soup tastes like feet.”   

“I don’t know what kind of pea soup you’ve been having, but it definitely does _not_ taste like feet.” Petra shot her a skeptical look. “How would you know what feet taste like, anyway?”  

“You mean I _haven’t_ told you about my secret addiction yet? Oh, lamb! I’ve lied to you; I’ve lied to us all! I can lie no more.” She laughed and it was almost familiar, almost the laugh she knew.   

Petra smiled, almost. “You’re terrible.” Their voices stuck in the dead air, drowned by fog.  

~   

When they arrived at breakfast, Auruo and Martin were already at their customary table, with heads bent close together, conferring in whispers. Auruo’s brows twitched low over hard eyes, his frown etched so deeply it might have been carved from stone; he argued insistently in an undertone, but Martin appeared unmoved. They both looked up when Wil plopped down at Auruo’s side, hard enough to rattle their bowls.   

“Whatcha talking about?” she said, swiping up a bit of spilled oatmeal with her finger and popping it in her mouth.  

“Oh, we’re –“ Martin began, flushing, but Auruo cut him off.   

“We’re talking about what an annoying twit you are.”   

“Well, that’s not news.” She leered as only Wil could. “Since when does that demand such an intense conversation?”   

“It’s not an intense conversation. Geez. Do you have to invent drama around everything?”   

“I don’t _have_ to,” she shot back. “But I want to. Keep your stupid secrets, Boss, I was just being polite.”    

Auruo’s incredulity could have withered an entire garden. “Was that supposed to be polite?!”   

“I was making conversation, you moron.”   

“Who’s the moron, you –“   

Confined to the corner of their table, Petra could only drive her heel into his foot. “Stop it. Both of you,” she added at his expression of pained betrayal. By now it didn’t surprise her that Auruo kept secrets – even when they were young he’d fumble on the truth, swallow it rather than admit its shame – but she didn’t expect Martin to enforce that secrecy; he looked away while they squabbled, his intense gaze trained above their heads, watching the comings and goings of their fellow soldiers.   

She hadn’t had a real moment alone with Auruo since they’d come back from the expedition. There had been no time to steal from their schedule, too much demanded their attention, even during their free periods; it wasn’t as if they could leave their friends to quietly self-destruct (or loudly, in Wil’s case). But she missed him all the same. It was only a few days more, she encouraged herself. Just a little longer.   

“I received a letter from my sister yesterday,” Martin said before anyone could start arguing again. “She’ll be in Karanese for my furlough, so we can ride there together.”   

“Are you parents coming too?” Petra asked, eager for the change in subject.  

“No, unfortunately.” His voice was stiff. “They have other matters. Harvest is soon, after all.”   

She knew the Klossners ran a farm a few dozen kilometers northwest of Karanese, but couldn’t think of anything there that was more important than seeing their only son, especially considering their occupation, and everything that could happen. “Should she be travelling on her own?” she asked instead.   

“Probably not,” Martin said with a shrug, his brow wrinkling. “She wouldn’t listen to reason, though.”   

Petra instantly regretted the question. “I’m looking forward to meeting her,” she said, trying to smile. It was one of the many things she’d have to fit in the three days of their furlough, before they were ordered to return; she had to spend time with her father, and help him at the bakery, and encourage his winsome apprentice, and visit the Bossards of course – Auruo’s brothers would never forgive her if she didn’t come by at least once – and Auruo, she had to spend some time with him too. Alone, without anyone watching or listening, the way it was best. She had to kiss him in a place where they were free to need each other.   

“Where are you gonna stay?” Auruo was asking.  

“You could stay with me,” Petra offered at once. “We have plenty of room.”   

“No, no, I- I couldn’t impose … thank you, though. Rebecca said she found an inn nearby, the last time she went to the city.”  

“Well, I’m so glad you’re all going to have a nice furlough schlepping around the district like normal people,” Wil said around a mouthful of oatmeal; even muffled, the words cut. “What a special time for you.”   

Petra’s patience wavered, and she gave Wil a reproachful look. “I offered to let you stay at my house too,” she said, struggling to keep the irritation out of her voice.  

“And I said I didn’t want to. I’d much rather stay here and have a great time bumping around headquarters with the other walking dead.”   

 _“Wil.”_   

She saw Auruo’s hands clench into fists on his thighs, saw Martin’s jaw going tight, and she hated it; at that moment she hated that it couldn’t just be nice for five minutes, because Wil was determined to make everyone as miserable as she was. Sudden shame twisted her stomach into knots. _You’re_ _cruel_ , she thought, and resolutely pushed her irritation away. Even unspoken the thought was a betrayal.   

She was about to offer again when Axel finally joined them, bearing his breakfast and a stubbornly maintained smile. It was testament to his features that not even the bandage on his brow and the circles under his eyes diminished his handsomeness; instead, it seemed to have taken another dimension, lent his features a tragic, winsome air. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “I was worried I’d missed you.”   

Wil went bone white. While the rest of them greeted Axel in return, she shoved another overflowing spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth and turned away. _Your friend_ , Petra thought with increasing disappointment as she studied Wil’s sudden dedication to her breakfast. _Isn’t he your friend?_ It was clear, despite his pretense, that Axel was suffering and he needed them – all one had to do was look at his eyes to see it. Wil looked anywhere but.    

“We have specialist training today, don’t we?” Axel said conversationally. His smile was hollow.   

“You know we do,” Wil muttered.   

“It’ll be nice,” he continued, trying to mask his wince at Wil’s tone. “You and me, Martin; we’re off to Logistics, right?”  

“That’s right.”   

“Do you think the Commander’ll be the one to teach us what he knows? You know, him being in charge and all.”  

“Likely not,’ Martin said, wiping the sides of his mouth with thumb and forefinger. “Squad Leader Hange is handling the Logistics training.”   

“Lucky you,” Auruo said, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, good. Now there’s a gorgeous lady, you know what I’m saying?” It was a desperate, insincere bid to return to the person he’d been, a careless, indiscriminate flirt, appreciator of beauty wherever it could be found, but Petra heard the false note in his voice.   

Martin heard it too. “It’s not appropriate to talk about your superiors like that,” he said gently.  

“Aw, come on. You never let me express myself. I always have to hear about how it’s ‘rude’ or ‘disrespectful’ when all I’m trying to do is convey my _sincere_ appreciation for a beautiful woman, is that so awful?”   

“It is if she’s your superior.”   

“Sigh,” Axel said, wounded. “Fine. I’ll be on my best behavior.”   

“So, completely terrible, then. Glad we cleared that up,” Auruo said with a wicked grin.  

“I see how it is! Betrayed, and by my own friends! How do you expect me to survive when –“ he faltered, blanching, “when you’re so eager to believe the worst of me? I can hardly bear it.”   

Petra swallowed the rise of thickness in her throat. He was trying so hard, and his attempts were so earnest and desperate that it made her want to cry, but of course she couldn’t – especially not here, not now.  “You better not say anything rude,” she managed instead. “Not everyone likes when people comment on their appearance.”    

“Well, fine. It’s not like I wouldn’t be paying attention.” He beamed at them. “This is the kind of stuff we should be learning, anyway. Specializing. Auruo and Wil, you’ll be learning to kill Titans better, and our lovely Petra will be learning field support, so we’ll be able to handle expeditions even better.”   

Though she’d been feeling a little sensitive about her placing (not strong enough for Combat, or smart enough for Logistics), she smiled. “That’s the idea.”   

“Yeah! Damn right. It’s good. This is good. The more we know the better we’ll do, and then it’ll all be worth –”   

“God, just shut the fuck up,” Wil snapped, and she rounded on Axel, her glare almost deranged in its intensity. “Could you just shut your hole? For once? Could we have one fucking meal without you beating us over the head with one of your worthless sermons?!”  

At first, it felt as if even the mess hall itself had fallen silent, until the sound of a hundred conversations rose again, suddenly too loud. Axel’s smile was excruciatingly forced – any scrap of genuine feeling had long since gone. “Wil, could we – ?”   

She shot to her feet before he could finish. “I suddenly remembered I have about a thousand more important things to do right this minute.” And she shoved through the throng of soldiers, disappearing into the kitchens.   

No one spoke, not even Auruo, who could barely tolerate a comfortable silence, let alone an awkward one. Petra couldn’t stand it either. It was bad enough that Oskar was gone; now instead of taking comfort in each other they divided over nothing and left bone deep wounds to fester. She wanted them to stop fighting; more than anything, she wanted them to be together, even if it couldn’t be like it was before. She reached for Axel’s hand and gave his fingers a squeeze. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.  

“It’s alright,” Axel said quietly. “It’ll be worth it.” And she wanted to cry again, not at his haunted face or Wil’s cruelty, but at the virtuous certainty in his eyes; a comfort anywhere else, rendered grotesque in light of what they’d survived.   

~  

 _Three days_ , Auruo coached himself as he strode to the training enclosure. All he had to do was survive the next three days and then he could go home, mess around with his brothers and hug his mother and sit in comfortable silence with his father, one of the few people he was comfortable being silent with. Three days and he could be alone with Petra, somehow – they’d figure something out, he was sure of it. A closet or alley or rooftop, some halfway place in the flat hours before sunrise. He just had to get through the next three days.   

Three miserable goddamn days.   

He figured he could survive if he kept his head down and focused on the matters at hand, the ones easily dealt with. He could manage training and the chores set for the afternoon; in fact, he’d rather dig a thousand latrine ditches than deal with his friends’ methods of self-destruction, or even his own. None of this was real; if it didn’t exist, it didn’t matter and he could put it away and never look at it again.  

Rubbing the flat of his thumb against his itching nose, he cast a hard gaze over the enclosure. It was still early, pearly mist shrouding the world with silver and white, rendering the hard angles of headquarters insubstantial, a breath away from disappearing. Through the mist, he saw some other recruits from his Team who’d been tapped for Combat specialization milling around the fences. At the edge of the milling group, Wil leaned against a splinted beam and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. When she heard him approach she jumped and dropped her hands, wincing as if she’d burned herself.  

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she bit out, kicking at a clump of grass.  

“Good,” Auruo snapped, his temper rearing. “I don’t want to talk about it either.”   

That was probably the best thing about Wil; she wouldn’t force an annoying (heartbreaking) conversation about their feelings, mostly because she hated talking about that crap just as much as he did. They could sulk and snap at each other in peace.   

 _Three days, three days, three days._  

To his profound relief, Squad Leader Brandt swept into the enclosure with a horde of veteran assistants in her wake, so they were compelled to leap to attention and ‘cram the chatter’. He still hated her guts, that rotten meddler, but he could have kissed her.   

Specialization was everything he could have hoped for and better; while the recruits watched, shifting anxiously in place, Brandt demonstrated an advanced maneuver and walked them through each step with patience that surprised him, before loosing them on the course and offering pointed guidance from her perch on the side pavilion. They worked the entire morning and into the afternoon, until tight ache slung in his hips and shoulders and his muscles screamed for rest. He didn’t care. Even when his legs started to tremble from exhaustion, so badly he could barely stand, he threw himself at the task with single-minded ferocity; as far as he was concerned, nothing else existed. The world might be falling apart around him, but here he was in control, and this was a problem he could solve.   

By the end of the day, he could barely walk, let alone propel himself to the mess hall for a well-earned dinner. But he’d never been happier to be exhausted. Wil slouched at his side, scuffing the ground with a well-worn boot heel, her hands jammed into her pockets. “I might just – I might just go to bed,” she chattered. “Pretty tired.”   

“You have to eat,” he said flatly. “Maybe if you stop picking fights it won’t be such a miserable experience.”   

“Picking fights, huh! That’s pretty fucking rich, coming from you.”   

“I don’t pick fights.”   

“Really.”   

 _Dammit_. “Not recently.”   

She smirked at him. “Yeah, I’m out. Petra’ll bring me a roll or something.”   

The worst part was that she was right; Petra probably wouldn’t even think about it before she'd done it. Her need to take care of everyone was entirely unconscious and without a scrap of self-interest, and that impulse increased when it came to the people she cared about. Sometimes it baffled him, how good she was. How it was even possible for someone that good to exist. Sometimes he could hardly look at her. He scowled at Wil. “Don’t take advantage.”   

“I’m not, dammit. I just – well, whatever. See you tomorrow, Boss.” And with a careless wave over her shoulder, she turned and strode the way they’d come, disappearing around the mess hall corner before he could try to convince her otherwise.   

It turned out she had the right idea; by the time he doled out a generous serving of potatoes and eggs the mess hall was almost completely empty, and only Martin lingered at their customary table. His features were even more drawn and preoccupied than usual, his dark grey eyes ringed with shadow, but he brightened when he saw Auruo approach. “I was waiting for you,” he said by way of greeting. “How was it?”   

“Perfect,” Auruo said, thunking down across from his friend. “You?”   

“Perfect,” Martin agreed. “Squad Leader Hange knows more about more than I can even imagine.” 

“Pretty sure that’s not true,” Auruo said, stuffing his face with rude abandon. “She’s just older than you, that’s all.”  

“I don’t know ...”   

“I do. Bet you’ll know more than her after fifteen years holed up in a giant library, like the one she's got.”   

“Hm,” Martin said with a distracted smile. “Hurry up.”   

“Wh-?”   

“Did you forget already? We’re investigating.”   

As a matter of fact he hadn't, but he hoped that Martin had. A vain hope, for he knew his friend too well – once Martin had a question, he wouldn’t rest until he’d found an answer – but hope was like that, sticking its face in places it didn’t belong. Auruo sighed, struggling for a nice way to word his reservations. “Look, it’s –“   

“It’s what.”   

 _It’s stupid. This is stupid. You’re being stupid._ “Nothing. Just give me a goddamn second, I guess.”   

“You think it’s stupid.”   

Sometimes, it really creeped him out when Martin did that shit. “I didn’t say that!”   

“I can see it all over your face. You’re an open book, you know that?”   

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve only said about a thousand times.”   

Martin looked away and traced a whorl on the table, his finger following along the grain of the wood. “You don’t have to come with me,” he said, his fine brows knitting together.  

Even though Auruo knew he was being manipulated, the words still sank like a stone in the pit of his stomach, sick and cold, which made it all even worse somehow. “Geez. I’ll come, alright? Just stop making sad faces at the fucking table, you asshole.” 

Martin beamed. "I appreciate it."  

 _Two and a half days,_ Auruo thought desperately. At this rate, Martin could probably use the break even more than he could.  

Without a reasonable excuse, he was forced to wolf down the rest of his dinner and follow Martin in his futile quest. His stomach knotted at his friend's resolute expression, the straight line of his shoulders, rolled down and back. “I don’t know what you think we’ll find out, anyway. It’s not like anyone’s going to tell some recruits about this shit,” Auruo said as they pushed outside. The dusk heat clung to the inside of his lungs and seeped down to his bones, yet he shivered.  

“You can find out anything if you’re determined enough,” Martin replied firmly, straightening his jacket. “Come on.”  

~ 

 _Two days_ , Petra thought as she watched sunset spill over the rooftops, shimmering like silk. She waited with her back pressed against the bumpy wood of the her barracks, shivering as the last faint light of the day fade into star-studded darkness. Closing her eyes, she tried to swallow what had become a constant lump in her throat and practiced smiling as convincingly as she was able, which she knew probably made her look insane. Somehow she had too much time to herself, and not enough; she didn't think she could bear another minute in her grieving friends' company, nor could she bear to leave them alone. The most appropriate compromise she could think of was pretending.  

She wanted to go home.  

No one could accuse Petra of failing to appreciate the wonders of a place, but for the first time she found herself wishing that she had seen more of Karanese, talked to more of its people and found more of its hidden nooks and crannies, so she could summon the whole of it in her thoughts and return there whenever she was unhappy. But she remembered her father's bakery, and the Bossard's apartment, and took refuge in the pale shadow that lived in her memory.  

"Hey," said a voice, wonderful and familiar. She looked up just as Auruo dropped down besides her, close enough that his shoulders brushed hers. He'd decided to skirt the edge of 'beyond reproach' today, which made her smile, though she knew it probably shouldn't have. 

"Hey," she said, leaning into him. "Why does it feel like I haven't talked to you in ages?"  

"Because you haven't," he replied, leaning back. She took the chance to study him; familiar scowl lines tugged up in a small grin, his earnest, almost bashful sideways glance at her before it darted away. They had known each other for almost half their lives, confessed to each other just about everything you could confess to a person, yet he still looked at her like he couldn't quite believe he was allowed to.   

"You should see yourself," she chided, leaning close and swiping the skin under his eyes with her thumb, and that was familiar too. "Are you sleeping at all?"  

"No," he said with a gusty sigh, head tipping back against the wall. "Martin was up all night last night scribbling in his goddamn journals. And when he wasn't scribbling he was grinding his teeth."  

That unearthed another worry; soon she was chewing the inside of her cheek, struggling to organize her chaotic concerns into a cogent question. She thought of Auruo and Martin's apparent argument from the morning before, and how odd it had been that Martin refused to clarify – he'd never been able to resist an opportunity for clarification. "Is he okay?"  

"What do you think? Are _you_ okay? Is anyone okay?" They were both quiet for a moment before his shoulders unhitched. "Sorry." 

"It's okay."  

"Nah, it's … geez. He’s obsessed with deserters,” Auruo said slowly, almost unwillingly, and she understood; it was bending a confidence for her sake. He looked as if he'd lived for a thousand years. “That’s what this is about.”    

She understood in an overwhelming instant; the pity pressing and physical, clenching tightly in her chest. “Oh, Martin …”   

That was all it took; the truth poured out of him, almost as if on a single breath."Yeah. That's what we did until curfew. You know where he dragged me? The fucking infirmary. He wanted that list of people who came back on the wagons. Then when he couldn't find that, he just went around talking to all of them and getting their names, or getting them from the saps sitting around their beds. Just _had_ to do it the long way. And then the – fuck. The healer in charge asks him what he's doing, and he's got it all ready! He's doing a report, you see; on their injuries and how they happened, to see if there's anything they could have done before the fact, of course. Prevention is the best medicine, he says! Aren't you a recruit, she says. Well of course, he says. Plays it off like he's trying to distinguish himself. And you know what else? He was actually doing that fucking report! It wasn't even a lie. He sat up all night and did that shit. He probably _does_ want to distinguish himself. He's got a dozen of these insane projects and he keeps piling himself with more and more, and using all this true stuff to find out what he wants, and it's okay in his mind because he's not technically lying – well, now he's gotta find the roster they took at the Trost gate, and then he's gotta cross-check and reference with the infirmary list and the current roster, blah blah. Good fucking luck, right? Like they're going to let a recruit learn all this shit. We heard some random veterans talking about it and that's what gave him the idea, and of course they'd know – they tell you more when you've been around longer, I guess. They'll tell you if you ask. Or you hear it from your Squad Leader, because they trust you now that you've proved yourself. But no one's gonna do that shit for some brats that barely know their way around anything. It's all this pointless bullshit to confirm something we already know."  

"Well, _he_ doesn't know for sure," Petra said gently.  

“Sure he does. We all fucking know. What does he think it’ll do, anyway? How is it better if Oskar ran? Does he think that’ll make it easier for Axel or something? Fuck, if he ran it means he chose it, you know?! How is that better?”   

“At least he’d be alive,” Petra whispered.   

Auruo sighed, scrubbing at his face with the flat of his palm, eyes to mouth and back again, as if trying to rub away what they had seen, what they knew. "Yeah, I guess."  

They were quiet for a long time, watching the sunset dust the tops of the trees as they whispered in the wind. Soon curfew bell would ring, and they would have to continue their training first thing tomorrow, but for now it was just the two of them, like it had been before, and she let herself take comfort in his presence. She drank it in greedily, almost jealously – the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed, the familiar woody wet-cut steel smell of his hair, his arms slung loosely over his knees, fingers twitching every now and then.  

" _Are_ you okay?" he asked after awhile.  

She knew she couldn’t brush him off; he'd know she was lying, anyway. _You don't have to do that with me,_ he'd told her that terrible night, and it was true enough to hurt. "Not really," she said with a little shrug. "Everyone is …" she made an agitated gesture. "I hate seeing everyone like this. It's not as if anything I could say would help Axel right now, I know that. But he keeps smiling and carrying on like nothing is wrong, and I know what it's like too -- I know exactly, you feel like everything and everyone will fall apart if you let yourself fall apart, so you can't."   

"Yeah, that does sound pretty familiar."  

"Don't start."  

"I wasn't gonna!"  

She shot him a warning look before continuing. "I know he'll talk when he wants to, that's never the problem. I have to be patient. _We_ do. And it wouldn't be so bad if that was all it was. But there's Martin with all his projects, and Wil is … being difficult."  

"That is the nicest possible way you could have put that."  

"I try."  

He grinned at her, and she loved him for it.  "You always do."  

"She won't talk about it, won't even acknowledge it. She just keeps lashing out and acting like a ..." 

"C'mon, you can say it. It's not like she's listening."  

"No, it's not fair, it's not like – she can't –" 

"Yeah, she _can_ help it. She's acting like a jackass."  

"She's hurting, you know? Lashing out is the only way she knows how to deal with it," Petra said stubbornly; they both knew it was true and had seen it play out over the last three years in countless situations, yet it still felt duplicitous and cruel to talk about it when she wasn't even around to defend herself. "I guess we should just be patient about that too. _Yes_ , Auruo," she said at his look. "Patient."  

To her surprise, he capitulated almost immediately. "Fine, fine. You'd know better than anyone."  

The concern bloomed, took a new shape. "You know what else has been bothering me? I hate that whenever I see you, you look like you're about to pass out or something. You better sleep most of the time when we're home, otherwise I'll be angry with you."  

"Is that right." He nudged her again. "What if I sneak over?"  

"Then we'll sleep together. And _n_ _ot_ that way, you wretch."  

She had been completely kidding; in fact, the frequency with which she thought of what they'd do when they were finally alone was a little embarrassing. But this prospect didn't seem to bother him at all; he smiled her absolute favorite smile, the kind that broke through his irritable reticence and made his eyes crinkle up, and in that moment it was just the two of them, like it had always been."That sounds pretty nice."  

 _Two days_ , she thought wistfully, and let her head rest against his shoulder."Yeah." 

"Not that I'd say no to the other stuff. If you, uh, y'know. Changed your mind."  

She pinched him. "You're ruining it."  

~ 

 

The day before furlough was worse than Auruo could have imagined.  Despite the fact that he'd actually managed to sleep last night, it left him feeling dull and muddled, with a particularly painful crick in his neck. Breakfast was even worse; Martin departed immediately after snatching a hunk of bread and cheese with Axel in tow, and Petra had already left. He was forced to eat with Wil, a taut silence buzzing between them. _Tomorrow_ , Auruo thought desperately, nearly choking on a mouthful of mushy oats. He just had to make it to tomorrow.  

Not even specialist training was a reprieve from the haze of misery that dogged his heels. Brandt's instruction seemed to come from a great distance, drifting through impenetrable fog; there were even a few careless moments when he barely registered Wil weaving in and out of his peripheral sight. The whir of 3DMG became almost soporific as the day wore on; the metal plate at the base of his spine nearly rubbed him raw.  

It seemed perverse that he was so close to going home and seeing his family, who he missed more than he could possibly put into words, and yet was still so miserable that he could hardly bring himself to speak, even to affirm a command. Too much crowded his thoughts, dread made his hands itch; if he could hardly stand these first days after an expedition, how was he supposed to make a life of this? That was assuming he'd live long enough to even establish a routine. Maybe he'd die on the next expedition. Worse, maybe Petra would die. Maybe they all would. What use was there in making plans for the future when you wouldn't live to see them out? He wanted to go home, and the want was so acute that for a moment he couldn’t breathe. If Oskar had deserted, he didn't blame him whatsoever – who could blame someone for bolting, when otherwise their lives were defined by the hell outside the Walls, and all they needed to do to prepare for it? Never knowing when your time was up, never learning everything you needed to so you could survive, or save the people you cared about ... He still didn't know anyone's names. He couldn't decide if he should bother to learn.  

He spent the entire morning and afternoon so consumed by his panicked speculation that he hardly noticed when Brandt called them off. 

"I won't be seeing some of you for a few days," she called to the dispersing recruits. "Try not to forget everything I spent the last few days cramming into your pea brains."  

"I love her," Wil said, sheathing the hilts of her gear and leaping out of the enclosure, wearing a grin too stiff to be real. "I don't know if I want to marry her or be her."  

Auruo swiped at his itching nose. "That says a lot about you, weirdo. Would you marry yourself?"  

"That's not such a bad idea. Since I'm the only person I know who can put up with my shit."  

Too personal, too close; the itch to flee nearly overcame him, though it would look pretty awful if he chose that moment to run away. He turned and started down the path to the mess, shoulders hitching. "Geez, Wil."  

"Don't deny it. You hate me," she said in that tone of voice he despised, the one that made it impossible to tell if she was joking or not. 

"Wh-? I don’t fucking hate you, dumbass."  

"Yeah you do. You don’t talk to me anymore."  

He stared, incredulous. "What, lately? I dunno if you've noticed, but I'm pretty tired. In general. And I'm pretty tired of your pissy snot routine, but that's not new."  

"Lamb hates me."  

"She definitely doesn't."  

"A-Axel definitely does."  

"What – why are you -" He'd never wanted to exit a conversation more in his entire life; so pressing was the need that he cast desperately around for convenient escape routes, distractions, plausible excuses that would remove him from this unbearable lapse. Wil was supposed to be the safe one, he thought with increasing temper and dismay; she hated talking about this shit. He'd specifically counted on that. 

"You can just admit it, alright?" She was still using that awful fucking voice and wearing that awful fucking face, and for an awful moment he wanted to leave her to her moping.  

"I did already! I said I _don't_."   

"You're such a bad liar."  

That did it; he rounded on her, so angry that his vision shimmered and his palms itched – the leftover impulse to fight. "How about instead of this dancing around shit you just spit out what the hell is bothering you. I haven't slept right in a fucking month, I got a migraine, Martin's going insane, Axel's trying to pretend nothing is wrong, and you're constantly picking fucking fights for no reason, which bugs Petra more than she'll ever admit, and now you're gonna whine to me about everyone hating you? I'm done. I'm fucking done! Spit it out or leave me the fuck alone."  

Wil blinked at him; something shifted in her features, a challenge won, expectation met. "Ha … tell me how you really feel, Boss."  

"Are you fucking kidding me-?!"  

"Oh, shut up. What an asshole. You want to know what it is? Really, really wanna know? I can’t do this,” she spat with a savage gesture, her eyes pitted and wild. And it all came spilling out, as if she'd kept it under her tongue all this time. “I can’t – I can’t – I’m not fit for this fucking shit, alright? I’m not right for it. I’m not – I’m not brave or stupid or whatever, I want to – if one of those fucking _things_ was reaching for one of you, if you were in trouble and I was the only thing standing in the way, I wouldn’t do shit. I know I wouldn't. Alright? I’d freeze – or maybe I’d just decide not to do anything. You get it? I’m not fit for this!”   

He stared at her. The admission disgusted him, yet there was something strangely brave about it too – that she knew herself well enough to realize such a thing, and hated herself enough to admit it, to enforce it before it had even come to pass. "No one's fit for this," he managed finally. There was nothing more to say.  

"Yeah … yeah they are. Lamb is. You too. You guys, you make me sick sometimes. This has been the worst week of my life, and apparently it was for you too, and you're still saluting and attacking the course all focused and doing everything right, because you joined for real reasons. For the good of humanity or whatever, isn't that how she says it? I joined for you assholes, and I can't even do that right." Her eyes had become bright, he noticed with increasing horror. 

"You read my mind now? You don’t know what the fuck you're talking about."  

"Oh yeah?"  

"For fuck's sake – yeah! _Asshole_!' I spent the whole week wanting to go home. And it's gonna be hard to leave home when I have to, really hard. You know how weird it is to listen to you talk about me like this? Like I didn't just spend my shift thinking about doing anything but be here. I even daydreamed about the fucking mill, and I fucking hated working there. Like I said – no one is fit for this. Alright?"  

She swiped at her eyes, and he knew that he'd convinced her. "I don't know …"  

"Why are you talking to me about this shit?" he blurted, unable to contain himself any longer. "You know Petra would give you a nice shoulder to cry on. You know I'm just gonna yell and swear at you."  

"Yeah. Because you're an asshole," Wil said simply, letting out a shaky breath. "It's easier to admit you're an asshole to another asshole."  

He knew this much. "Thanks."  

"Yeah … you too." Slowly, she grinned – a tentative thing, but better than nothing – and nudged her fist against his shoulder. "So you don't hate me?"  

"For fuck's sake-!!" 

She burst out laughing. "Oh god, oh god. You should see your fucking face. You're too easy! It's not even fun when you're this easy."  

"You sure? 'Cause you look like you're having fun. At my expense. As usual."  

"Well, I am now." 

~ 

By the time they arrived for dinner, the mess was mostly empty. He knew it meant they were consigned to unappetizing leftovers served at an even more disgusting temperature, but he was too tired to care, so utterly exhausted that he was no longer sure he'd be able to stumble back to his barracks under his own power. But Petra was there, and Axel; the pair of them clasped hands over the table, both wearing suspiciously watery expressions. "Hey, Boss!" Axel called cheerfully when he saw them. "Wilhelmina! We waited for you."  

"Wish you wouldn't," she shot back, but it was a little closer to normal – the caustic kind of repartee they could all deal with.  

In the kitchen, they were met with the expected devastation; empty trenchers and plates stacked nearly to the ceiling, and the mess detail grousing as they scrubbed dishes, elbow-deep in their lukewarm washbasins. He sighed, feeling it pinch in his shoulders, and scraped some burnt, cold potatoes onto his plate. Wil's tirade had given him a headache, and Martin's descent into mania was giving him an ulcer. He wasn't equipped for this emotional range; he could barely deal with his own problems, let alone everyone else's.  

"You're making me sad just looking at you," Wil said cheekily.  

Of course she was in a great mood after dumping her feelings on him. He was just tired."Shut up."  

When they re-emerged, Martin had materialized as well, three of his notebooks spread out on the table in front of him. Auruo could see it from here; more lists, more diagrams, that infernal model of a hand that seemed to grow increasingly complicated and incomprehensible the more Martin picked over it. Worse was Martin himself; his hair was lank and disheveled, his unblinking eyes rimmed with shadow. When he took a sip of water, his hands trembled so badly that some spilled over the edge of his mug.  

 _He's tired too,_ Auruo thought, guilt twisting his stomach into knots. He could try and rattle some sense into Martin -- he'd do no one any favors or finish any of his stupid projects if he wore himself to the bone, after all – but there was no accounting for that incredible stubbornness, or what mad heights it'd drive him to reach.  

Auruo fogged in and out of their dinner conversation, lapsing between agonized concern over Martin and anticipation for the dusty mattress in his apartment, probably stacked high with brats right now. By this time tomorrow, he'd be sprawled in that dusty mattress too, with all his brat brothers piled on top of him, because they liked to make his life difficult. His mother would probably be cooking something, his father would be sleeping or reading the paper. It was so painfully boring, so _normal_ , that it could only exist in a dream.  

Maybe he could go to the market and pick up some gifts for them before he came home; he had a little extra pay left over. Benoit would want a book, whatever book, it didn't matter what it was about – Christophe would probably want one of those awful, loud wind-up toys, he thought those were hilarious …  

He was so distracted that he almost didn't notice when Wil and Petra left for the night, and only managed to offer them a gesture that might have been a wave if it had more energy behind it. He hadn't noticed Axel leave at all. When he looked up again, his fogged vision sliding into focus, he and Martin were alone, and the mess hall was nearly silent.  

"Hey … can you put the notebooks away for the night?" he said at last, when he'd finished pushing the disgusting potatoes and stewed cabbage around his plate. "Take a break, you know … I'm pretty tired."  

Martin looked up, fixing him with a blank expression, before turning back to his lists. "I can do this alone."  

"Geez, you idiot. _You're_ tired too," Auruo groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Can you give it a rest for one night?"  

"It won't be one night. We're leaving tomorrow."  

"Yeah, well you could probably use four nights off, now that you mention it."  

Martin clenched his eyes shut before wrenching them wide again, and Auruo noticed they were badly bloodshot. "I just need to finish this --"  

"Hey, kids," said an intruder, slamming his hands down on the table so forcefully that Martin jumped. It took Auruo a moment to place his name; Gelgar, one of the vets from the other night. He flashed them an insufferable grin and leaned over to peer at one of Martin's notebooks. "Behaving?"  

"No," Auruo said flatly. "What do you want."  

His affable expression faltered slightly. "Well, I heard you two have been nosing around," he said nonchalantly. "How about you tell me what you're looking for and I'll give you a hand."  

"Gee sir, that's so nice of you."  

Martin shot him an incensed look. _"What is wrong with you?"_ he hissed. 

"It _is_ nice of me," Gelgar said. "Especially since nosing ain't so smart, and you're not being nearly as smart about it as you think." This said to Martin, who refused to be cowed; he lifted his chin, something stubborn and mad glinting in his eyes. Only then did it occur to Auruo that this was no random impulse conversation, but a pointed warning. "Come on, now. Out with it."  

Even exhausted, Auruo had a few hot retorts burning at the back of his throat, and he would have unleashed them had Martin not stomped on his foot, hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. "We want to know if our friend was one of the deserters."  

Gelgar studied them carefully. "Who said there were any deserters, huh?"  

"You did, actually," Auruo retorted, wincing. "Are you gonna help us, _buddy_?"  

The quiet stretched on, long enough to make Auruo itch under his collar. Gelgar regarded them with an expression he couldn’t parse; irritation, almost, or pity.  “What was your friend’s name?”   

Auruo bristled at his use of past tense, but Martin looked at him with manic wonder, as if he held the all the secrets of the universe in the palm of his asshole hand; all this time, after all their nosing, it turned out all they’d had to do was ask. “Oskar. Oskar Haupt.”   

The older man’s brows crumpled slightly, and the bottom dropped out of Auruo’s stomach. He knew this already; he’d known it from the beginning, but there was something about the earnestness of Martin's quest, it had made him believe, almost. It made him want it to be true, despite what it would really mean. “He wasn’t one of them,” Gelgar said unwillingly. “I- I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but yeah. He wasn’t one of them.”   

That old contrary impulse rose in him, though he knew, he knew already, he'd known all along. “Right, and we’re supposed to take you at your word, huh?”  

“Take it or leave it as you like, bud. I’m just telling you what I know.” He leaned back on his heels, away from them. “I-I know it’s hard, but –“   

“You don’t know shit,” Auruo snapped. “Thanks for nothing.”   

Gelgar smiled sadly at them, and he hated it – he hated that everyone in the fucking Survey Corps wore this bullshit expression, that awful mask of a smile, even Petra. "Alright, bud. See you around." Before he left, he swiped up Auruo's plate and ducked into the kitchens, touching the crest of his stupid pompadour with his free hand.  

It was the worst silence they'd suffered yet; a crumbling silence, stuffed with sickened realization and regret big enough to choke on. This was his fault; he should have said something from the beginning, should have been more insistent, emphatic.  He'd been too preoccupied with his own crap to really notice, or to find the words, when he should have never let his friend's obsession grow so painfully out of control, no matter what else was going on. "Martin --"  

Martin said nothing; he snatched up his notebooks and shambled awkwardly to his feet, as if he'd forgotten to walk. "It's fine. Don't --" He pushed away Auruo's open hand. "Don't." He was halfway out the door before Auruo could say anything. 

He was dead tired, yet he found himself sprinting after his friend on boneless legs. "Look, can we just --"  

"This is what you wanted, Auruo. Stop looking at me like that."  

Auruo drew back. "This is not at all what I wanted."  

"Yes, it is." 

"Oh, you know for sure, right? You and Wil should join a fucking troupe, put your powers to use."  

Martin shouldered past him, and he cursed himself; _you fool, you idiot, you asshole, what the fuck is wrong with you?_   He was so tired. "I'm just saying, no, this is not what I wanted. At all." _I want to go home, I want all of this to have been a dream, I want Oskar to be alive and_ _Wil_ _and Axel to figure out their shit,_ _I want to marry Petra and go to your concerts and_ _live a boring asshole life. I want to punch 12-year old me in the face._  

Martin didn't seem to hear; he wobbled down the path to their barracks, speaking so quickly he stumbled over his words.“He could have run the other way … maybe he found people! Maybe there are villages or something, you know? I mean, we _don’t_ know, not for sure. There's all kinds of land, cliffs and mountains, maybe they have villages built right on the cliff faces, or inside the mountains, you know, a cave network. I read about cave people, they had mirrors for light and tapped the underground springs for water, and they'd go on raids for the resources they couldn't grow or find underground, maybe some of them found him! It could happen, it–“   

Auruo stared, sick to his stomach. Once during training, Martin had argued with Axel for nearly an hour over the probability of the supernatural, the presence of ghosts and phantasms, unseen things that creep in shadows and dart past out of the corner of your eye. He’d staunchly denied the existence of anything that he couldn’t see or smell or touch, with so much vehemence that Axel was forced to concede the point. “Martin …”   

It wasn’t possible – who could possibly live outside the Walls, when each expedition brought them closer to utter extinction? Martin knew it too; he'd gone sickly pale, his eyes wide and glassy. They cut through Auruo like a blade. Neither spoke again, not during the interminable trek back to their barracks or after they slipped into their bunks and extinguished the lamp. And he lay there in the dark, exhausted to the point of collapse yet too miserable to close his eyes. He didn't know what upset Martin more; losing Oskar, or not knowing why he'd been lost. 

Auruo knew why. They were idiots. They'd believed something that couldn't hold its center, not even for a day. 

 

~ 

He woke to panicked muttering, slurred with sleep; beneath him Martin thrashed so forcefully in his bunk that it rattled the frame. When he realized that his friend was caught in the throes of a nightmare he dropped down to the floor, leaning over just as Martin's muttering crescendoed horribly into raspy moans, like the rattle of a dying man. "Martin," he hissed, shaking his shoulder. "Martin!"  

Something smashed into his nose – a wild fist as Martin flailed upright—and they struggled, Auruo gasping in pain, Martin half-sunk in the nightmare still. "Martin!" he shouted, grabbing his wrists, so tightly he felt the birdlike bones digging into his palms. 

“He was trying to get back in,” Martin sobbed, clutching his chest. Even in the dark, Auruo could see his eyes wrenched wide. “He was right there.”   

Auruo pinched his bloodied nose and swallowed his heart. "It was just a dream."  

 

 

 


	34. Chapter 34

They sat in the dark for only a little while before pounding rattled their door, loud enough to make them flinch. “Martin?” came the muffled voice from outside. “Auruo?”

It was Axel, of course; only he would care enough to hurry over the moment he recognized one of their voices. He might have done so for anyone, now that Auruo thought about it. Before he could knock again, Martin got shakily to his feet and hurried across the room, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Be quiet,” he chastised in a sharp whisper, working the door open. “You’ll wake the whole compound.”

They could only see an outline of Axel in the diffuse moonlight, his honest face half-draped in shadow, elsewise it would have given the truth away: Martin had been making enough noise to raise the dead. But Axel slipped inside without a word of it, the door clicking shut behind him. He could always be counted on, when it came down to it.

The three of them stood in silence until Axel gave half a laugh, brushing the hair off his brow with casual grace. “Make room, Martin; I’m not going to stand here like an idiot.”

 “Sitting like one isnt’t much of an improvement,” Auruo said, reflexive as a flinch.

But Axel looked up from his feet and beamed at him, like he’d expected the retort, perhaps even hoped for it. “That’s the idea.” He folded himself into Martin’s bunk with surprising alacrity, tucked so tightly in the corner that he seemed smaller, younger somehow, though he was easily fifty pounds heavier than Auruo, and only a little taller. “D’you mind if I stay here for the rest of the night?”

Martin let out a slow breath through his nose, rubbing his reddened eyes. “Of – of course not.”

“I had a nightmare too,” Axel confessed easily. It unnerved Auruo more than almost anything he’d ever said or done. “There’s a lot of that going around, huh?”

His earnestness chafed, but Auruo said nothing. It would be unkind, whatever he said, unwelcome; too sharp for the tentative air. “I suppose,” Martin allowed, picking at the sleeve of his nightshirt. “Though do you hear anyone else screaming?”

“You weren’t,” Axel reassured him. “I only heard because I was wandering around.”

“You’re not supposed to do that,” Martin chastised. “You’ll get another citation.”

“Well what are they going to do about it? Garnish my wages? Ha!” Axel’s smile turned sour. “What would I use those on?”

Auruo gaped at him. “Your supplementary requisition, maybe?” 

“Why would I do that, when I could just swipe a bit of yours?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

Axel smirked but said no more. For a moment, Auruo expected to hear the familiar echo of Oskar snickering over his friend’s shoulder, just as he had done the first day of training. Even after everything, it still didn’t seem real that he was gone. He could have been on one of his walks, wandering the compound in search of something to bring his friends, a bottle of wine or a broken timepiece or a scrap of cloth. Something that would make them laugh.

It was quiet for a long time, save for the wind whispering through the leaves, raising a chill on the back of Auruo’s neck. He pinched his bloodied nose and tried not to breathe, or think. “I’m sorry I scared you,” Martin said quietly.

“Hey, hey. You did me a favor,” Axel replied. “Didn’t I say so already? Now I have an excuse to bother you.”

He’d never needed any such excuse before, but Auruo thought it would be ungrateful to mention it. Martin seemed to agree; he pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around them. “You’ve packed for furlough?” he asked.

“Well, of course. What else am I going to do in the middle of the night?”

“Quite a lot, actually. You could clean your room, for starters.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Axel huffed, sprawling out. “I’m glad you’re letting me come along to Karanese.”

“I’m not letting you do anything,” Auruo groused. “You decided you were coming all on your own.”

“Well then … thanks for not giving me too much trouble about it.”

“Why would we?” Martin asked.

“I dunno. Don’t worry about it.” Axel scrubbed at his face, quickly assembling his customary winning grin before rounding on Auruo. “Now, look. You can’t go home looking like that.”

“What do you propose I do about it.” Auruo lacked the energy even for sarcasm.

“Give me your razor.”

He spoke with such authority that it overrode even Auruo’s impulse to retort, even thought he was already feeling too sorry for his friends to argue with them. He bent and rummaged through his drawer until he produced the razor in its cloth wrapping, the blunt side sticking out and glimmering in the faint light. “What are you gonna do with it?” Auruo asked, eyeing the blade nervously.

“Cut your ears off, of course.”

“Excuse me?”

Axel snorted, ducking his head, and pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, an unconsciously rakish gesture, wasted on their company. “I’m giving you a haircut. Hasn’t Petra been making noises about it lately?”

Scowling, Auruo pulled self-consciously at the curls around his ears. It wasn’t a bad idea, and he had been thinking about it, painfully aware of how shabby he looked alongside his comrades. “How is that supposed to help with this?” He made an exaggerated gesture at his face, puffy nose and purpling eye in all its glory.

“Well, everyone will be too busy noticing your hair. Especially with the job I’m about to do to it.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

He didn’t, and he wasn’t exactly looking forward to the lecture. Maybe if she had something else to fuss over … With a put-upon sigh, he dragged his chair over to the side of the bed and turned around, fluffing the hair at the base of his neck. “Do you actually have any experience with this shit?”

Axel’s expression contorted in comical dismay. “Of course I do. Who do you think cuts Wilhelmina’s hair? And you know how vain she is.”

Auruo scowled; Wil’s hair was impeccably cut and usually in artful disarray, the kind only achieved through careful attention and a mirror. “What are you gonna do with it.”

“I don’t know, what would you like? Probably something noticeable, otherwise what’s the point.”

“I guess …” Auruo thought about it, scratching his chin. There wasn’t that much variety with soldiers; utility was prioritized over style, but some of the veterans favored a tidy undercut and it made them look poised, professional, as if they’d been born soldiers.

He remembered Levi, a black and green blur materializing in front of him, his lips moving soundlessly as he gestured tightly toward the Walls with his blades. Nearly a week later and Auruo still couldn’t remember what he said. He’d fashioned his hair in an undercut too.

“Maybe like the Commander’s,” he hedged. It wasn’t pathetic to follow your Commander’s example – he was everyone’s superior, his conduct set the standard, down to the immaculate condition of his uniform and personal habits.

“Would you cut mine too?” Martin asked finally, and rummaged through his belongings with renewed purpose. “How much?”

“Oh, put that away. I was going to offer if you didn’t say anything.” Axel grinned and tossed an elbow into his side. “You’re looking a little shaggy too.”

Auruo’s face burned – it hadn’t even occurred to him to offer to pay for the service, in large part because he couldn’t afford it. Martin seemed to realize this too, or he saw the truth of it on Auruo’s face; he shot Auruo an apologetic look, heavy with shame.

“Don’t fuck it up,” Auruo warned.

“Boss, honestly! Have a little faith, alright? My hands are very sure.”

“Uh huh.”

“Sure as stone.” He drew out each word for emphasis.

“What a bunch of bullshit.”

But Axel had already set to work, wetting the razor and easing its edge gently against his scalp, and he fell silent, the cold air against newly bare skin making him shiver.

~

That night Petra dreamed of her mother.

She had done such a thorough job of purging those days from her memory that it seemed unnatural even in the dream, disconnected from herself, a relic borrowed from another person. This woman with Petra’s face, taller and older, with green eyes instead; she could only be a stranger.

They were kneeling together in the dirt, amid a hole-pocked field, making trenches with their fingers. Her mother was laughing as she dropped the seeds inside. "They grow from their graves," she whispered like a secret, palms spread atop the dirt, pressing it flat. Perhaps she’d meant it to be a comfort, but the thought haunted Petra, infected the landscape of the dream.

( _She remembered dogs barking, people shouting, her father crying; a cacophony that did not cease, not even when she crawled under her bed and clapped her hands to ears—)_

Her eyes flew open. She let out a ragged breath, clenching bedsheets in an aching fist. Her nightshirt clung to her skin, drenched with cold sweat, and she shook so badly that the bed frame clattered around her, wood panels creaking in protest. Swallowing, she swung her legs over the side and pressed her palms into her eyes, letting each slow inhale fill her completely before she let it go. Birds called for sunrise. The smell of wet earth filled her nostrils, and the cool air touched her face. She pinched the inside of her wrist, and smiled when it hurt.

The memory of her mother hovered over her shoulder as she washed and dressed and settled the last of her things in her knapsack, needling, like a wet chill on your neck. She suppressed a shudder, tossing her knapsack over her shoulder and striding out into the misty morning.

Wil had already gone; to the showers, most likely, or to the mess hall to brood over a cup of black tea. She hated goodbyes almost as much as she hated talking about anything difficult or uncomfortable. Petra would have liked to give her a hug before they left, but she’d learned not to crowd her friend when she slipped into one of these moods.

Daybreak filtered through the fog so that it glowed from within, bathing the world in a haze of gold. Petra lifted her face to the sky and felt the stirrings of hope and anticipation settle in her chest. They had three days in Karanese, three days of respite from their obligations and vows. They could pretend to be civilians, if they wanted; they could set aside all they’d seen and the fear of a gruesome end for a few days of rest with their families. No one would begrudge them the attempt. Her father would probably prefer it.

Only a fifth of the Survey Corps was given furlough at a time, so operations wouldn’t grind to a halt – especially since the month’s primary squads were expected to prepare for a small-scale sweep of the outlands before their next expedition. The Military Police enjoyed lengthy furloughs, and even Garrison soldiers were given a week; the Survey Corps were lucky to get three days every six months. But she would take it and be grateful; it was better than nothing.

Martin and Auruo were waiting by the stables. She almost didn’t recognize them; Auruo’s eye was blackened, and both had cut their hair in the common military fashion – short on the sides, longer on top. With Martin’s fine hair, the effect was sleek and professional, but Auruo’s curls tufted with vengeance and stuck out every which way, as if they resented the imposition. He and Martin must have bathed too, she realized; his hair only looked so intractable after washing.

Her lips curved. She’d be able to see and touch his ears without having to go digging for them, a fact which probably made him irritable and insecure; every so often he swiped back at the empty space where his hair had been, frowning. He dropped his hand when he saw her approach and scrubbed at his reddening cheeks.

She rushed over, her bag bouncing against her shoulder. “What happened to your face?” she gasped. It was even worse up close, his nose swollen and the skin around his eye mottled black and blue.

“Geez …” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. “I’m gonna kill Axel.”

“Axel hit you?!”

“No, no. Don’t worry about it.”

“So, what happened?”

“I …” His gaze slid over to Martin before snapping back to her face. “It’s not a big deal, alright? Just –  don’t worry about it.”

She swallowed a twinge of hurt. She thought there were no secrets between them, there never had to be; they shared everything with each other and had for years, sometimes as soon as it happened, sometimes things they had never told another soul. Now, suddenly, she wondered what else he kept from her. “Why are you being so cagey about this?”

“I’m not, I’m …“

Martin shot him an exasperated look. “He’s trying to be considerate. I had a nightmare, he tried to wake me up, I hit him in my sleep. That’s about it.”

“Well, I thought – geez! I thought you wouldn’t want me spreading it around.”

“I hurt you. You’re allowed to say how.”

Auruo looked as if he’d like to argue, but reconsidered it at the last moment; muttering under his breath, he turned away sharply and strode toward the cart. She caught another ‘geez’ before he rounded the corner. She and Martin set out after him, scuffing at the wet grass. She chewed on her lip, stifling the worry as best she could, but a little came out anyway. “Are you okay?”

Martin offered her a tired smile and readjusted his grip on his bag. “Of course.” Said with utter certainty, as if he wouldn’t allow himself the alternative. She couldn’t bring herself to press him – his eyes were distant and sad, and a permanent wrinkle had stitched between his brows. 

They hadn’t been waiting long when Axel ambled toward them, his duffel tossed carelessly over one wide shoulder, a wash of caramel brown hair falling in his eyes. “Good morning!” he called cheerfully, waving with his free hand. “I was worried I’d missed my ride.”

“No, you weren’t,” Auruo said. “You don’t worry about anything.”

“Boss, c’mon! That’s not fair. I worry about you all the time.”   

“Worry about yourself.”

Axel gave him a cheery shove and grinned as he caught his balance against the edge of the cart. Sunlight spilled over the rooftops, bathing the courtyard in an envelope of warmth, and for a moment it was like it had always been. They could have been preparing for another grueling day of training, adjusting their gear and laughing, eager to prove themselves. Blissfully unaware.

Auruo shook Axel off with a sneer. “You sure she’ll be okay with this?” he asked Martin in an undertone, shifting anxiously and squinting across the courtyard.

“I told you already. We talked about it twice.” A few days ago, Martin had asked Squad Leader Brandt if they could hitch a ride to Karanese with the scrap carts. For this furlough, Commander Erwin had tasked a few of his squad leaders with relaying various odds and ends to the surrounding district cities to be repurposed as best they could. In the back of their cart were a dozen crates filled with broken steel, which would be melted down and re-forged by the mill outside the city.

“Not more?”

“Are you kidding me?” Martin gaped at Auruo incredulously. “Twice was already testing her patience.”

That sounded about right, but it did nothing to assuage Auruo’s fears. “You didn’t give her enough warning. She’s gonna make us hitch a ride out of Trost, I can see it now. It’ll take up the whole day just trying to find a carriage, let alone how much that shit costs – we might not even get there until tomorrow.”

“I said she’s fine with it,” Martin retorted. “Do you think I’m lying to you?”

Auruo looked at him unhappily. “Of course not, I just – fuck.”

“I did this so you wouldn’t have to pay for a carriage,” Martin said. “You wouldn’t have let me pay for your fare.”

Auruo reddened so badly it threw his black eye into even sharper relief. “Don’t put that on me,” he snapped. “Like you have to go out of your way and make trouble for our superiors because I’m – because – “

“You _are_ poor,” Martin said. “And it’s not making trouble if she was already headed that way. I don’t know why you’re angry at me for trying to be thoughtful of your circumstances. It wasn’t the only reason I asked her.”

 _Because he’s ashamed_ , she thought with a pang of tenderness and dismay. He always had been embarrassed by his lack of means, like it was a mistake he should have been able to fix on his own. She hurried forward and placed herself between them, taking Auruo’s hand and squeezing it tight. “You really did me a favor too, Martin,” she said quickly. “Honestly, the only people that can afford that fare probably have their own carriages and horses already. Thank you.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Martin said, relief flooding his expression. “I couldn’t believe those rates, they were appalling.”

Auruo said nothing, his hand slack and loose in hers; briefly, she worried that she had only made the situation worse before he finally squeezed back, his mouth working as he chewed the edge of his tongue.

With a little jolt, she dropped his hand. At headquarters, they had to be beyond reproach, but soon they would be free to carve out a few hours in the middle of the night while the rest of the world slept, a few hours where they could be alone together, and say what they would without worrying they would be overhead. A few hours to run her hands over the planes of his body, feeling him shiver beneath her.

She was remembering Auruo’s mouth on her neck when Brandt strode into the stables courtyard, tossing a faded knapsack onto the driver’s bench, where it landed with a clatter and slid into the footwell. Petra nearly jumped out of her skin, and flinched away from Auruo before Brandt could form any suspicions. If she hadn’t done so already.

“What the hell are you standing around for?” Brandt barked at them, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. “Get in the cart or I’m leaving you behind.” 

They hastened to obey, Axel smirking as he clambered onto one of the crates. The cart was mostly full so arranging themselves comfortably was a lost cause; the best they could do was crowd along the back-left panel, gripping the sides for stability, close enough that their knees bumped together.

Brandt gave them a half minute to settle themselves before she craned back with a cut-steel look, her harsh features drawn. “Now, I don’t want to hear any crying about bumps and scrapes,” she called back. “This isn’t a goddamn luxury carriage, you’re guarding my cargo. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Axel said promptly. “Absolutely, sir.”                                                 

Petra ground her heel into his toes. “Don’t antagonize her,” she hissed.

Brandt sucked at her teeth, giving the reins a flick, and the cart lurched forward. “I don’t want to hear anyone fiddling around in those crates either. _Bossard_.”

“Wh – yes, sir.” Auruo’s expression was fulminous; it was just as likely, if not more so, that Axel would pick through a box of broken blades trying to be clever or funny.

They had passed out of headquarters onto the main road when they saw a bright figure in the distance charging toward them, bag slamming against her back, her white-blonde hair glinting in the daylight like a coin in a riverbed. The cart hadn’t picked up much speed yet, so Wil was able to close the distance in less than a minute. “Take it!” she yelled at Auruo, whipping her bag at him. It caught him square in the chest, and he dropped back down with a startled _oof_.  Grinning, Axel leaned down and caught her by the arm, hauling her up with a dashing flourish. They crashed together when the cart bumped over a hole in the road.

“This is so romantic,” he crooned in an undertone. “You came for me.”

“I came for lamb,” Wil said, shoving him away, but Petra saw the smile she tried to hide. “Stupid.”

Petra quickly pulled Wil to her other side, wedged so tightly that they jostled together. “I’m glad you changed your mind,” she said, squeezing Wil’s fingers.

Wil submitted to this affection with a long-suffering air. “Yeah, yeah,” she said, flapping her hand dismissively. “Don’t get excited.”

“Hey, hey!” Brandt snapped back at them. “What are you charging around throwing things like a dumbass for? It’s a lot of paperwork for me if you break your neck.”

“I didn’t think you would have stopped for me, sir,” Wil said, with an attempt at innocent sincerity.

“You didn’t think, huh. That’s a surprise.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Sorry, _right_. Guard my cargo and shut your traps. And try not to do anything stupid in the meantime.”

When she turned around again, Axel brought a hand to his heart. _“I love her,”_ he mouthed virtuously, eyes lifted to the sky.  He seemed considerably happier, his smile more genuine than it had been since the expedition, in a way that Petra knew had nothing to do with Brandt.

“Why do you have to do everything so dramatically,” Auruo muttered, shooting Wil a sour look.

“I only just decided I wanted to come ten minutes ago,” Wil said breezily, and she swiped a lock of sweaty hair off her brow. Somehow, the gesture was careless and charming. “I’m not going to slump around the base all by myself for three days while you all have a great time in the city, cavorting like jerks.”

“But you wouldn’t be by yourself, only a few squads are getting furlough this month.”

Wil’s shot him an irritable look. “Will you calm down, maybe? You’re the one making it dramatic by bugging me about it.”

“I am calm!” Auruo blurted indignantly.

Wil snorted. “Boss, you have never been calm a day in your life.”

“Now, that’s not fair,” Petra said. “I can think of at least a few.” They had been lovely days, golden and summer-slow, and the memory of them kept her warm, even now.

“Really! Just a couple, huh? I stand corrected.”

Auruo gave her a look of such dismayed betrayal that it almost made her regret teasing him. “Thanks a lot!”

“Oh, come on.” Wil kicked at his shins, scuffing his trousers with wet grass. “This is what I’m talking about, by the way.”

Brandt snapped back at them again. “Do you not understand Common? I said cram it. You’re giving me a headache.”

Despite her grousing, Brandt took an easy pace. Every now and then she would crane around at the scenery, the wide-leafed trees lining the main road, the fields and farms spread out on the distant horizon like a fine layer of pollen on the surface of a pond, and she would take a long, slow breath, letting it out in a steady rush. They couldn’t see her face, but the line of her shoulders and neck had gone loose, almost. She had new jagged tendrils on her hands, Petra noticed; the ink stark as truth.

Martin drummed his fingers on his violin case, alternating between rhythmic exercise and fingering drills, his gaze unseeing and vague. There was fear there, too; he would see his sister for the first time after her injury soon, and he would have to master his reaction so as not to upset her. But Axel and Wil had entered their own little world, where they spoke with smirks and stupid gestures, a game of silent challenge. For his part, Auruo chewed his nails so desperately that she saw a bit of blood on his lip, where he’d bitten off a hangnail.

“You know your mother’s going to have a fit,” she whispered, brushing a curl off his brow. Of consternation or delight, she didn’t know.

Auruo groaned. “I didn’t think of that when I was doing it, obviously.”

Of course he hadn’t. The thought was unexpectedly sweet, so like the Auruo she’d known half her life that she felt her worry recede. They were quiet as the wagon rattled them down the main road, which stretched up and over the smoky blue hills in the distance. She blinked up at the sky, watching a flock of birds soar overhead. Sometimes it was hard to believe that Titans occupied this world too; it was too green and wide and resplendent with promise, too lovely to bear such a blight. There was no injustice more unnatural as life in a cage. The thought should have been depressing, but instead it filled her with new purpose.

She bit her lip. “Remember my eleventh birthday?”

“Now how did I know you were going to bring up that bullshit?”

“It was so cute. You really did look like you’d been assaulted by delinquent barbers.”

“It’s not that bad now, is it?”

She brushed the back of his hand, softly as she dared with Brandt so near. “No, not that bad.” The impulse to kiss his neck was even worse now; she had total unrestricted access, so much that she could lean over and brush her lips against that freckle without having to paw for it behind a mass of curls. She could trace circles around it with her fingers right now, if she wanted.

 _Soon_ , she thought. She would need the reprieve after reuniting with her father. The thought made her stomach hurt. He would be upset; that was a certainty. He would probably cry, which would make her cry; he might even beg her to resign, though it was long past an option. The worst part was that she wouldn’t be able to refuse him with the same ironclad certainty anymore; she couldn’t reject his desperate appeals without remembering everything that had happened.

Cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. What was she going to say? What _could_ she say? She wasn’t the same person anymore, the kind who made fierce proclamations with no experience to back them up. Petra thought of her mother again; she had always preferred the truth, no matter its shape, but her father could hardly bear to face it sometimes …

The weather was favorable and the roads relatively unpopulated, so they made it to Karanese by midafternoon. Dark clouds gathered at the edge of the sky, but above the district it was wide and clear, not a cage but a pane of glass. Suddenly, now that they were at the gates, her eyes stung with unwelcome tears. She had missed this place so much, and she was scared.

Auruo groped for her fingers, squeezing them tightly.

Brandt tugged on the reins, and the cart shuddered to a stop, the horses whickering in relief. As she peered at the city through the gaps in the gate, the guards rifled through Brandt’s identification papers and inspected their cargo before waving them through, but the routine was cursory, inattentive. Boredom etched itself on their faces, ubiquitous as a part of the uniform.

Brandt noticed it too. “Look sharp,” she snapped. “You’re not getting paid to sit around drinking.”

“We’re not drinking,” one of the soldiers retorted sullenly.

“So that’s not alcohol on your breath? You idiots smell like a fucking brewery.”

Axel ducked his head, stifling his laughter behind his hands. _“Oh shit!”_

The soldier had the grace to look chastened, and more than a little afraid. “We’re just –“

Brandt snapped the reins before she could finish, and the cart shuddered forward once again, bumping over the cobbles deeper into the city. Petra craned around at their retreating figures, brief satisfaction overpowering her anxiety at the sight of their stricken faces. Not everyone was so lenient, especially not the Survey Corps. They’d do well to remember.

“Thank god she’s like this with everyone,” Axel whispered, below ear-shot. “I love her so much.”

“Are you going to report them?” Martin asked her, leaning forward.

“I’m thinking about it,” Brandt said, and a muscle in her jaw flickered. “Goddamn waste of money, on all accounts. Waste of time.”

Her rancor was a little too pointed to be impersonal, and Petra wondered how many other wasteful drunks she’d known in her life. It was different in the Survey Corps – no one drank to waste time.

The crowd was starting to thin out, but its still took them nearly a half hour to make their way from the gate to the Garrison headquarters, even with Brandt fixing the civilians who dared wander in their path with her most formidable expression, all heavy brows and thinned lips, hard lines carved around her mouth. Headquarters was more efficient, less lenient; no sooner had they arrived when a few Garrison soldiers rushed across the courtyard to tend to the horses, offering her a tight salute. Brandt leapt out of the carriage and strode toward the building, slinging her satchel across her shoulders without a backward look.

“Thanks for letting us hitch a ride, sir,” Axel called.

Brandt waved him off. “I was headed this way anyway. Now get out of my hair for a few goddamn days. I have work to do.”

They five of them had agreed to meet at the East Market fountain tomorrow at exactly noon, though not to wait longer than a half hour in case their families needed them for whatever reason. The caveat was Petra’s suggestion; she suspected her father wouldn’t want to let her out of his sight the entire time she was back, at least not without some careful wheedling. Axel and Wil took off together, heading north; after a few paces Axel threw his arm around Wil’s shoulder, crushing her against his side – and after the cursory squabbling and protest, Wil draped hers around his waist.

“I’d like for you to meet my sister,” Martin said before he departed. “She’s eager to put a face to my stories.”

“You talk about us?” Auruo blurted.

“Of course I do,” Martin said with a secretive smile, and she wondered just how much he confided in his sister. Probably everything; she had no way of knowing, just a feeling that he was as forthright with Rebecca as he was with his friends. Auruo seemed to have reached the same conclusion; dismay and grudging pleasure warred across his features, making him look even more concussed.

She tugged gently on his sleeve, and he followed without a word. The crowd jostled them as they wove through the familiar neighborhoods of their home, away from the central markets and shops toward the humble apartments and homes that crowded the edge of the southern wall. The air was thick with the smell of alehouses and potshops, manure and bread and spices and steel, and it left her light-headed.

“Can I see your family first?” she asked him in a small voice. “It’s early, and – I want to see them too. Before I go home.” She missed them so much that she couldn’t put into proper words, but it was more than that; they wouldn’t make her feel guilty for what she’d chosen, not overtly anyway. They’d be happy just to see her alive.

Auruo swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “Yeah. Of course. You don’t have to ask.”

Tears stung at her eyes again, and she turned away. She could do this.

“How should we act around them?” he wondered apprehensively, drifting through the street like a ghost, his gaze far away. “I don’t know how to act around them.”

She didn’t know, either. She’d watched a man crawling on his belly through the field of bodies, scrabbling weakly at the dirt as he dragged himself forward. One of his legs had been bitten off at the thigh, and he was bleeding so profusely that he’d stopped moving by the time she’d leapt off Primrose to help. A ribbon of red stretched out behind him, unfurled like a banner in a breeze, anchored to a steaming Titan corpse. He’d died beneath her hands.

A shudder rippled up her back. “Don’t tell them too much,” she said firmly, but she was thinking about her father. “It’ll just worry them. And then they’ll fixate on the details and get even more upset. It’s not worth it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” He reached back to card a hand through his hair, the familiar comforting gesture, and started when his fingers brushed stubble. Reddening, he dropped his arm, letting it hang loosely at his side. “Yeah.”

She hated that it was almost more terrifying to face them, but the fact that Auruo was preoccupied with the same fear reassured her a little. She wasn’t wrong or a coward, or cruel; it was normal to be afraid. She and Auruo had touched another world, one she hoped they would never see. She grabbed his hand fiercely, feeling the ridge of scar on his palm, and took comfort from that.

“You can tell me though,” she said.

He’d only been half-listening; he blinked down at her vaguely. “What?”

She stared at his bruised eye, nearly black in the fading afternoon light. “Never mind.”

They rounded the corner onto Auruo’s street; cramped as always, crisscrossed with laundry lines, sheets and shirts shivering in the light breeze. They passed one house, and another. Auruo’s hands were clammy, and her heart raced, lodging itself in her mouth. It was hard to breathe; had it always been so hard to breathe? She quashed her panic with a determined exhale. They were fine, it would be fine, she could handle this. She wouldn’t make it worse this time.

The Bossard’s window was open, pane swung wide and tapping against the wall with each breath of wind. It seemed smaller than she remembered, but there was the same half-rusted pump and the cracked cobbles, there was the Bossard’s immaculate stoop, and there were the sounds of his family from within, so beautifully familiar, so much like home that it made her ashamed.

A shout from inside, a chair scraping against the floor before it fell over, a pair of rushing footsteps, and before they could take another step the front door banged open, revealing a haggard Mrs. Bossard and Benoit. Tears streamed down their ruddy cheeks, and their eyes were bloodshot and puffy, like they’d been crying for a while. She never noticed how much Benoit looked like his mother before.

“Mom,” Auruo said, his voice breaking. “Benny.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i'm the worst -- family bonding + furlough stuff next week! thank you so so so much for your patience while i got my shit together <3


	35. Chapter 35

Auruo had no sooner spoken before the rest of his brothers rushed outside and enveloped him in a haze of chatter, gripping fistfuls of his uniform with sticky hands and yanking him in a half-dozen directions. Benoit scrubbed at his puffy eyes and pulled the knapsack off Auruo’s shoulder as Didier latched eagerly to his arm, Christophe shouting over the din to be heard: (“did you see a Titan, did you kill one? What did they –”) Mrs. Bossard forced her way through the squabbling mess to reach up and hold Auruo’s face, turning it this way and that, craning closer at his blackened eye.  

“What happened to your face?” she said, smiling determinedly through her tears, though Petra saw that it trembled at the corners. “Are you getting into fights again?” And for a moment they stood inside a memory: Auruo scrappy and sad-eyed and twelve, struggling out of his mother’s grip.

“It’s nothing, Ma,” he said, but he was no longer a boy; he submitted to her inspection with a pitted, heartsick expression, a drowning man at a party. It struck Petra like a physical blow, and her eyes filled with sudden tears, blurring them out of her sight. This time there was no reproach in his mother’s voice, only hope; that his injury had come from one of his scraps, not the terrible business of soldiers. She made a choking sound, and Mrs. Bossard turned and reached for her, flapping her hand a little for emphasis.

“Sweetheart,” she laughed and wept, and she could have been talking to either of them. She pulled Petra into the mess, wedging her tightly against Auruo; and like that she was no longer on the outside, watching through a dirty window, but part of them – as if she had always been.

“Geez,” Auruo said hoarsely, turning his face away from them. She could hardly bear the outpouring herself, to say nothing of how it would affect Auruo, already so uncomfortable with emotional displays. She wanted to scoop up each of his brothers and hug them tight and kiss their foreheads, even Benoit, who was probably too old for it now, she wanted to spend the evening gossiping with Mrs. Bossard and easing her inevitable anxiety, she wanted to sit next to Auruo and wedge herself under his arm and stay there the entire night; openly, blatantly in love. She had to leave now or she’d never escape.

She disentangled herself with jerky, unsteady motions, stumbling over a loose stone in the street and catching herself on Auruo’s arm. “I – I should go,” she forced out, before the tightness in her throat could get any worse.

Mrs. Bossard dabbed at her eyes. “You sure you don’t want to stay? Let me fix you something to eat, at least. You must be so tired. It’s a trek from headquarters, isn’t it?”

“No, thank you. I – my father, I shouldn’t keep him waiting long –“

Mrs. Bossard’s kindly smile nearly ripped her heart out. “Of course, of course. He’ll be so happy to see you.”

“Yes.” Her smile transfixed itself to her face, an unnatural rictus mask, trembling at the loosening corners. “I just wanted to – to say hello.”

Mrs. Bossard squeezed her hand tight. “Come by anytime while you’re in Karanese.”

“What, you’re not staying?” Christophe demanded, shouldered through the throng. “You just got here!”

“She has her own home, stupid,” Didier muttered. “It’s the same every time they come back.” Since the days of their training Interims, they stopped by Auruo’s home first before she made the rest of the way back herself; she was on much better terms with his family than he was with hers, and the solitude gave her a chance to focus and prepare.

Christophe rounded on his traitorous brother. “You’re stupid!”

“Hey, hey,” Auruo said immediately. “Cut it out or I’ll knock your heads.” He grabbed them by their collars and hauled them away before one of them jostled Petra into the street.

“I’ll see you –“ she began, then cut herself off, her cheeks burning with shame. “I’ll see you soon.” A tight smile, then she backed away and hurried down the street in the opposite direction, her heart stuck in her throat. She chanced one last look over her shoulder in time to see the horde of boys pushing and shoving Auruo inside with so much zeal that his elbow smacked the edge of the doorjamb before he disappeared. Mrs. Bossard gave one last wave and followed the commotion.

 _I’ll see you tonight_ , she hoped, then felt guilty for hoping. She hadn’t seen her father in months, and saw Auruo and her friends every day, sometimes more than she could handle (especially when Wil was being difficult, or Axel impossibly earnest and oblivious, or Martin so consumed by another one of his projects that he couldn’t talk about anything else). But it was different – they understood, and she didn’t know if her father had decided to try yet.

She took the long way home. It only added twenty minutes, but that twenty minutes was essential to her preparations; no matter what, she couldn’t cry, or indicate in any way whatsoever that her life as a soldier was desperately dangerous and painful in a way she hadn’t properly anticipated. She’d never hear the end of it, otherwise; for her father’s many virtues, graciousness was not among them.

The streets seemed wider than she remembered, the people brighter, their voices rising above the general commotion with clarity she’d never experienced before. Still she felt like she recognized them all, though that was impossible: the patrolling Military Police, their eyes glazed over with boredom, languorous and assured; a cluster of men huddled outside a salon with a newspaper, each of them jockeying for a better position to read; a procession of children shrieking with glee as they raced through the thoroughfare, narrowly dodging a passing cart before darting into an alley. The driver shouted at their retreating figures, gesturing furiously as his donkey juddered to a stop in the middle of the street, braying its indignation.

In that moment, she wished so acutely that Wil was with her, that she decided on another of her carefree whims to stay with her for the entirety of their furlough. She was so dynamic and charming that her father was sure to be assured, or at least preoccupied with the spectacle and her choice in friends. But it was a futile hope. Wil had gone with Axel, presumably to untangle years of miscommunication and pick up where they left off. Despite herself, she was happy about that.

Her neighborhood hadn’t changed either; a wide street lined with two-story duplexes, the fading afternoon light painting the shingles rose and the white-bricked walls a soft gold. Sidestepping a puddle of rainwater, she squared her shoulders and strode purposefully to the end of the street, where their narrow house stood dark and empty.

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. She took the steps two at a time and fumbled through her satchel for the key, forcing open the door and stepping into thick, choking darkness. “Dad?” she called, cupping her hand around her mouth. “Dad, I’m home!” No answer came; the silence nearly deafened her, pressing against her ears like a sodden blanket.

 _He must still be at the bakery._ Still, worry nagged at her, and a reel of disasters spooled out in her mind; he could be hurt or sick, he could have died and she’d never know it, he could have been taken by bandits, could have been robbed, could have –

 _No, the house wouldn’t be empty if he was dead. My key wouldn’t have worked. A neighbor would have said something._ She took a steadying breath _. If he hasn’t come home by sundown I’ll go to the police._ She let her bag slip off her shoulder and felt her way through the hallway, stepping into the oppressive dark of the living room. Sneezing, she took a fistful of filthy curtains and threw them wide, squinting against the sudden light.

The state of the house was thrown into sharp relief; a layer of dust coated every surface, the stove was caked with so much soot and gristle that everything probably came out tasting like a forge, and a pile of dirty pots were stacked precariously in the washbasin. She drifted up the creaking stairs to his rooms, peeking inside nervously – the bedclothes were rumpled and the room was heavy with the scent of stale sweat, but nothing else was too far out of the ordinary. 

He’d made no effort to welcome her, or, it seemed, to care for himself in any meaningful capacity while she’d been away. With a pang, she realized he must not have been sure that she would return, and couldn’t bear preparing only to have his hopes dashed. She imagined him sitting in an empty house, surrounded by fine food and gifts for a daughter that wasn’t ever coming home, and sympathetic tears rushed to her eyes. She wiped them away quickly, sick at herself.

The solution came to her just as quickly; he’d be so happy to see her home and safe that he wouldn’t expect anything else, not the dishes washed, the curtains and rugs dusted, maybe some dinner on the stove. The thought of his face lit up with surprise and delight was all the motivation Petra needed; she set to work immediately, ignoring the cramp in her neck.

~

 

Auruo expected his family to make an event of his return, but he hadn’t anticipated the lengths they would go to make him feel not only at home but like a hero, victorious in the face of insurmountable odds. In addition to the standard spread of groceries, his mother had procured a bushel of black tea and a wheel of sharp cheddar at great cost, though he might not have known by the generous servings she portioned out: barley bread with a crust that could crack your teeth yet impossible hot and tender inside; a pile of au gratin potatoes that brought tears to his eyes with the first bite; steak-cut seitan brined in broth and fried until the surface was tough with  savory gristle and –

“Is this salt?” he demanded, mouth half-stuffed and agape.

His mother only brought a finger to her lips.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten so well at home. They hadn’t known if he would return today with the rest of their furlough block, but there had been no question; he would feel welcome, spoiled within an inch of his life, praised and feted like a hero. 

It was like he’d never left at all; Christophe kept jabbing his sides and interrupting the conversation with some new story of his exploits on the streets, and Etienne sat on the floor, huddled around the legs of Auruo’s chair, yanking at his bootlaces and watching the fine leather wrinkle. Following his lead, Francois plopped down beside him and pulled at the strap by Auruo’s calf, though with considerably less insistence. When he’d been caught, he looked up at Auruo, suddenly shy.

“He’s a soldier now,” Etienne told his younger brother soberly, as if weary from his vast experience. “That’s what the belts are for.”

“Fly?” Francois wanted to know.

“Yeah, he can fly around with it, that’s right. That’s how he kills the Titans, I saw it myself.”

Francois made a distressed sound.

“Yeah huh! When he was training we got to see them all flying around. It’s so the Titans don’t eat them. They’re going too fast.”

Sweat broke out on the back of Auruo’s neck, and bile crawled up his throat. Francois’ looked back up to Auruo with watery, saucer-wide eyes, his expression crumpling. “Scary,” he whimpered, his lower lip trembling. 

“Nah, c’mon. It’s not so bad. Hey, hey, don’t cry.” He hauled his brother onto his lap and gave him a bounce before he could reconsider; it was deeper than habit to intervene, but this time Francois didn’t cringe away from him or cry, or treat him like a stranger –tentatively, he took a fistful of Auruo’s jacket, as if to ground himself. 

“It’s _not_ ,” Auruo said to Etienne, forcing himself not to grin at the boy’s outraged expression. “And you can wait your turn,” he said, preempting the outburst. “I only got one lap.”

“But you have two arms!”

“You’re a pushy brat.”

“Hey,” Benoit interceded, frowning down at the scene. “Let him have some space, he’s only here for a little while.”

Auruo closed his eyes. _As if I could forget._

Before long, anxiety and shame were chewing a hole in his gut as he mentally tabulated how much this feast must have set them back, how much they’d need to store up for winter, the status of their clothes (ripping seams, the number of patches). He waited until supper was over and his brothers had calmed down a little before he brought it up. 

“How’d you spring for all this?” he asked his mother in an undertone that was nearly drowned out by the boys’ clamoring.

“Your pay’s made things so much easier, sweetheart.” She gave him a trembling smile, her eyes glassy. “You were right about that.”   

He frowned, faltering. “Are you sure you can afford –“

“Let’s not talk about money,” she interrupted in a breezy tone, waving her hands as if to bat away the words. “You’re not home for very long.”

He opened his mouth to retort – knowing they were settled with a cushion of a few hundred marks between them and disaster would ease his worries better than any of her assurances, anything to assuage the fear that he’d come home one day and find out they’d been evicted for defaulting on rent, or had starved to death – but thought better of it after a moment. “Right,” he conceded with a sigh.

His mother’s expression softened. “You don’t have to worry so much, Auruo. We weren’t doing this well even when it was just the three of us.” 

That made him smile. “I forgot.” They’d had fewer expenses then, but his father’s source of employment had been far more irregular, and the spare bits his mother made doing laundry and various odd jobs only covered a paltry fraction, if that. Even so, they insisted he go to the neighborhood schoolhouse five days a week, learning to read and write and do sums. “You’ll never get anywhere if you’re illiterate,” his father had told him – one of his few insistences. “Don’t make trouble for your schoolmistress.”

As a kid, he’d hated school with a burning passion, but from this side of adulthood he suddenly couldn’t remember what had been so bad about it. The bullies maybe, but they were everywhere. He chugged his milk and set the glass aside, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What kind is this?” he asked, making a face. The aftertaste was more than a little unpleasant.

“Almond!” Etienne said. “It’s my favorite, ‘cause it’s kinda sweet.”

Didier wrinkled his nose. “It tastes like newspaper.”

“Nuh uh!”

“Sweet newspaper,” Benoit interceded without looking up from his book.

His mother hefted a pot into the washbasin. “It’s better than nothing,” she said heavily. “It’s cheap and available. Especially now that we got that new farm just outside.”

Auruo had been so preoccupied with his anxieties that he hadn’t even noticed.  It made sense they would appropriate what fertile land remained for some new farms over ranches. It was easier to grow soybeans and walnuts than cows. He thought wistfully of the Survey Corps’ goats, then felt guilty for missing them – it was more than his family could afford, possibly more than they’d experience in their lifetimes.

His teeth set, spiteful determination settling in his chest. _Not if I have anything to say about it._ He’d done this for them, for this very reason, so they could have enough money to buy things they wanted sometimes, not just what they needed, so they didn’t have to look at the Walls and be afraid. So they could leave them, if they wanted. It didn’t stop the reel of gruesome memories from running away in his thoughts, only put it in context; this was for them, and everyone. He just had to remember that.

He rose to help his mother clean; after a day of feverish preparation the kitchenette looked like the scene of a crime, but before he could make any real progress Benoit planted firm hands on his shoulders and guided him away from the chaos. “You’re supposed to rest,” he said seriously. “That’s the whole point.”

“And to see you lousy brats,” Auruo shot right back, mussing Benoit’s hair. “Dunno what I’d do with myself otherwise.”

Benoit smirked, despite himself. “Probably have a nice, relaxing time.”

Somehow, Christophe managed to contain himself until after supper, chewing on his lip, wedging his hands under bouncing thighs, his gaze darting from Auruo to their mother and back, twitchy as a bird. He waited until his mother was preoccupied with sweeping before he rounded on Auruo, his expression bright and eager. “So what’s it like?”

“What’s what like? Being home? Pretty nice, so far, I gotta say, that meal was really something …”

“You know what I mean! Don’t be a shithead.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“I will when you stop!”

This was the part of their reunion he feared; the interview. He could feel their curiosity burgeoning in the silence like rising heat prickling bare skin. There would be a few stages to the interrogation and he’d assiduously prepared for them all. He had plausible excuses, he’d hoarded deflections like supplies, he was ready. In theory.

He hadn’t prepared for how sick it made him feel to lie to them, though he’d resolved to do so for their own peace of mind. No one needed to see what he’d seen; he wouldn’t put those images in his brothers’ heads, especially the little ones, and he wouldn’t do that to his mother, not for anything.

He gathered his thoughts. “I –“

“Let’s not talk about that,” his mother interrupted; by now, her smile had grown so stiff that he thought it would flake off her face like plaster from a poorly-made mask. “He’s only home for a little while.”

“But he’s been outside the Walls!” Christophe said. “He’s gotta tell us what that was like, at least.”

“It was inside the Walls just a few years ago,” Auruo pointed out.

“Well, it ain’t anymore. Were there a lot of smashed buildings? Did you find any bones? Lydia says her sister told her there’s bones everywhere, bone piles, where the Titans threw up –“

“Christophe!” Benoit hissed. “Shut. Up!”

“I didn’t see any bones,” Auruo said. “Really, there wasn’t much to it. I promise. We went out, came back the same day, that’s – that was it.”

“Why even send you out in the first place if it was for something so small?”

“I – why would I know that? I ain’t the Commander.”

A headache fluttered at his temple, lancing through his jaw. Petra had warned him about this. He’d wanted to indulge them a little, but his brothers were insatiable; five pairs of eyes looked up at him like he was some mythical champion, their expressions slack with nearly palpable awe. It was more than he could bear. “Look, I told you pretty much all I’m allowed to say. We’re not supposed to talk about details with civilians.”

“Aww,” Etienne whined, pulling on Auruo’s trouser leg.

“But we won’t tell anyone, right?” Christophe shoved Didier. “ _Right_?”  

“I didn’t say anything!” Didier bleated in dismay.

“You’re the one with the big mouth,” Benoit told Christophe, his expression flat.

“Alright, that’s enough,” his mother interrupted, and the six of them froze; she barked the order in her lawmaker tone, the one that meant deadly business. “You’re not going to bother him about his work. He’s not supposed to talk about it, and he’s only here for a little while.”

His mother, the unexpected ally. But every time someone reminded him that his time was short, a little piece chipped out of his heart. Though their furlough was better than nothing, he couldn’t help but be keenly aware of each second as it passed, every minute bringing him closer to its end. “I can tell you about the horses,” Auruo said, tone lifting in appeal.

“Horses are stupid,” Christophe muttered petulantly, plopping hard into the faded armchair. But his was the only objection; the rest of them piled eagerly around Auruo’s chair. His cloak was portioned off to Christophe as a peace offering, his jacket to Didier, who alone could be trusted not to pull at the patches adorning his shoulders and chest. One boot each for the babies.  Benoit was old enough not to care (as much).

“Now, _my_ horse is the smartest horse, naturally, obviously … so I call him Stupid.”

 

~

By sundown Petra had finished most of the cleaning; she’d swept the floors and wiped away dust a quarter-inch thick from all the surfaces, mantles, windowpanes, counters, the wobbly banister black from a dozen hands rubbing oil into the wood over the years. It no longer smelled oppressively like an archive, but of soap and sweet smoke. She was just about to start supper when she heard a key scraping the lock, the front door creaking its protest as it swung wide.

Her father stepped inside, clutching his bag to his chest, blinking in confusion at the warmly lit home. His eyes widened when he noticed her waving from the kitchen, before they quickly filled with tears. The bag hit the ground with a sad little thud, and before she knew it he’d closed the distance and pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly that she couldn’t draw a full breath.

“Petra,” he sobbed. “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

That alone would have broken her heart – she could hardly keep it together when someone else was falling apart, especially someone she loved – but it was the way he smelled that broke her composure; like the bakery, like flour and yeast and sunlight, like home.  She rubbed his back and cried like a child, snivels and runny nose and all.

“I’m alright,” she told him when she pulled away, assembling a smile. “Not a scratch. Look, I was going to start dinner. Have you been eating? You look so thin.”

“Oh, Petra …”

“Oh, Petra, nothing! You’re skin and bones.”

He waved her off. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Here, let me help,” her father said, pushing her gently aside. “I should’ve had something waiting for you. I just –“

“I know,” she told him, putting a hand on his arm. “Could you tell me about the bakery? I have to hear what everyone’s been up to. You never mention Mrs. Calder in your letters, or the Petersons, or –”

“They’re all fine. They ask about you every day.”

 “Well, _I’m_ asking about them. You do still talk to them, don’t you? Tell me everything.” She smiled, guilt coiling in her stomach. She _did_ want to know, but her interest wasn’t entirely innocent; she’d do anything to anything stave off the interrogation.

They cooked side by side, stewing vegetables in a thickening broth, chatting as they did. Her father had brought home one of the days’ leftover baguettes, and a pair of large rolls that he hollowed to the bottom of their crusts; the idea, he said, was to eat the bowl as you ate the soup and save the dishware. It delighted her; the novelty, and the reprieve from any more work. Her back and shoulders ached.

They only spoke of light things as they ate; she told him about her favorite places in headquarters, the stables and kitchens and the back of the dorms where a few officers cultivated a small herb garden. She told him about the excellent food, the fascinating people she’d met so far, the officers and their quirks; she spoke at length about Squad Leader Brandt, who as far as she was concerned epitomized everything worth aspiring to – strength, courage, loyalty, responsibility toward those weaker and more inexperienced. She spoke of the little comforts on base, and he spoke of his customers, competition with the other bakers in the city, a rivalry he’d formed with the proprietor of the tavern across the street.

“It’s always so loud,” he ranted, nearly without taking a breath, “there’s always some kind of ruckus; once that riff-raff actually had one of their ridiculous drunken brawls outside my door! Could’ve broken my windows, and you know what that cost. I tell you, they’re driving away half my business.”

“That’s standard for taverns, isn’t it?”

“That’s my point exactly, they have no right putting that nonsense on a respectable street, in the middle of legitimate businesses.”

“It’s not like they’re selling poppy,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“You don’t know that! Who knows what goes on in those backrooms.”

“It’s just a tavern …”

“Exactly, and there are already so many in this horrible city. You’d think the council would put a stop to any more.”

“I think they prefer that people drink,” Petra said before she could stop herself. “I mean, it’s good for the economy.”

“So are bakeries. With un-smashed windows.”

But the joke fell flat; her brows furrowed, and she looked up from the dregs in her bread bowl, studying his face for the truth. “You don’t like it here?”

“Oh– well, not so much when there are drunks congregating around my business.”

“But aside from that?”

He seemed suddenly uncomfortable, incapable of meeting her eyes. “It’s just like anywhere else, Petra.”

But that wasn’t true; Karanese was a city of sunlight and magic, and she knew its every corner and crevice, every alleyway and where they led – she knew the bakers and barkers and soldiers, she knew everyone on this street, and almost everyone on Auruo’s. She’d been blessed here; she’d found someone whose worth was incalculable, who loved her for everything she was, good and bad. She let the matter drop, though her heart sank – she didn’t know what could be so awful about this city, the place that had given her everything, when she’d had almost nothing left.

By design, there wasn’t much to clean up after supper, so she and her father retreated to the living room to play cards, just like always. They both had their own decks, but they used her father’s because the cards were worn to perfection, soft as skin beneath your fingers. As usual, it took them awhile to decide which to play.

“How about Rats.”

“We’re not playing that one.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re young and your reflexes are better. Let your old man keep some of his pride, won’t you?”

“Dad, come on. I’m really out of practice.”

“You say that every time!”

They settled on blackjack eventually, to Petra’s disappointment – Auruo was a formidable opponent in this game, due to his acuity with numbers, and she was miserable in comparison. But her father liked it, and his eyes were looking a little brighter, his expression a little happier, so she let it go with no argument.

But they’d only played four hands when her father finally broke the peace.  His expression had fully darkened, his brows threaded low over troubled eyes; when he looked up at her, it nearly ran her through. “What was it like?” he asked after she’d shuffled the cards. “O-outside the Wall?” 

“Dad …” She had to stay firm. She wasn’t going to talk about this, and it was for his own good. “You used to do business inside Maria, you could probably tell me better than I could tell you.”

He didn’t smile. “You know what I mean, Petra.”

She sucked her lips over her teeth, weighing her options. “It’s about what you’d expect, Dad. The villages are ruins. The infrastructure is a mess, it takes half a day just to go a few miles. Pockets of Titans here and there –”

_“’Here and there’?”_

Her face burned. “There really aren’t as many as everyone says. It’s never as bad as the rumor.”

“Sometimes it’s worse.”

“It really isn’t, people always exaggerate toward the negative.”

“But what do they have you doing out there?” he fretted. “You’re in a squad, right? Who’s in your squad, how many of them are there? How experienced. Do they have you working alone out there, without any backup – how many Titans did you see, try and think now. What _happened_? Tell me what happened exactly. Were there officers nearby?”

“I – I can’t talk about it,” she stammered. “Please, it’s – it’s not as bad as you’re thinking, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Don’t insult me, Petra. I know that’s impossible.”

Appealing to both reason and pity had failed; sufficiently cornered, she was forced to bring out the regulations. “I can’t, Dad,” she told him firmly. “My oath requires me to keep the details of operations and expeditions confidential, especially from civilians.”

Her tone had taken him off guard. “Even your father?”

“My father is a civilian,” she said, with a level stare; curiously, her agonized regret had nearly disappeared. “I’m sorry.”

He blinked twice, and his expression closed; soon there was no trace of happiness or concern left in those familiar features, only stony regard. “Well, all right. I wouldn’t want you to be unprofessional for my sake.” The right words, but they’d been soured by his tone. “It’s your turn.”

They played a few more hands but their hearts weren’t in it anymore. But before he tromped up the stairs to his room, he pulled her into another firm embrace. “I’m glad you’re home,” he said, drawing back and squeezing her shoulders. “I have to mind the bakery until Mr. Gauthier comes around in the afternoon, but tomorrow night we’ll go somewhere special, how does that sound?”

She summoned her brightest smile. “It sounds wonderful, Dad.”

Only when she heard his bedroom door close did she let out a trembling breath. It had been better than she expected, yet somehow far worse. She hadn’t confessed anything that might upset her father, but only her unforthcoming answers mattered to him; they hadn’t argued, yet her stomach still churned, tangled into inextricable knots.   

She went to her room and closed the door behind her, the latch clicking softly into place. Chewing on her lip, she stripped her uniform and folded it neatly, storing it in a bureau that had been a wedding gift from her grandfather to her mother. Rifling through the drawers, she produced a nightshirt, shaking it out and slipping it quickly over her head. The fabric was cool, and a film of dust settled over her like a shroud.

Raindrops spattered the window, rivulets chasing each other to the ground _. Soon_ , she thought. _Maybe soon_. She didn’t feel guilty for hoping anymore.

~

 

Because his return was deemed a special occasion, Auruo’s brothers were permitted to stay up until nine bells before his mother herded them to bed, a sleepy, squabbling mess. Yet tonight, they were eager; they crowded on the pile of mattresses and blankets in their room and watched him with owlish eyes as he launched into one of their favorite stories, the bee and the bard. Only Benoit was awake when he’d finished.

“It’s your voice,” Benoit said with a yawn, pulling a blanket tight around his shoulders. “You have a calming voice, you know? When you want to.”

“Yours is about the same.”

“Not really. It doesn’t work when I do it.” He said this with no rancor or disappointment. “Goodnight.”

After his brothers had settled, he slipped out into the living room, dropping into a chair at the dining table with a weary sigh. It was getting late, and his father still hadn’t come home. “Where’s Dad?” he wondered while his mother pulled out the collapsible bed, shaking out blankets and fluffing pillows.

“The mill’s been keeping his block late for the last week,” she said, blowing a curl out of her face. “Falling behind their quotas, sounded like.”

Auruo frowned. It meant more money for them, but it also took a larger toll on his father, already in his forties and starting to weaken. He lapsed into thought as his mother pressed a kiss to his forehead, pushing his hair back and smoothing the furrow between his brows with her thumb. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re here to rest.”

It would be easier to predict the weather. “Alright, Mom.”

Despite the raucous laughter down the street, she fell asleep within five minutes. As his family slept, Auruo nursed the dregs of tea in his mug and tried to outrun his fears, distract them with better memories, drown them out with desires – he might be able to see Petra tonight, after his father fell asleep. He might be able to hold her, press his lips to her neck, slip his hand inside her smalls … he might be able to feel her laugh, taste her lips, her sex, might be able to bury his face in her hair and live for a few hours, disconnected from the rest of the world.

Maybe they could go somewhere, some new place neither of them had ever seen before, just the two of them. Maybe one of the northern cities, like the one Brandt had come from. Maybe find a few kinds of bread to break down into a recipe she could later recreate. That would probably make her happy. Maybe he’d get her some flowers too. There were mountains in the north, maybe she’d want to climb one. It would be so different they could almost convince themselves they were standing on the outside, with the Walls at their backs.

He was so entranced by the fantasy that he didn’t notice when his father had come home until the door creaked open, and a rush of cool air swept inside. It hit him like ice water; he leapt to his feet, blinking the disorientation away. His father stood in the doorway, damp with cold sweat, his face streaked with soot, reeking of the forge. He broke into a wide, white smile when he saw Auruo.

“You’re back,” he said, then pulled Auruo into a crushing embrace. “You made it.” The smell was even more overpowering up close, but it didn’t make him sick like it should have; it was so achingly nostalgic that his eyes filled with unwelcome tears, and he stubbornly blinked them away. He’d kept it together the whole damn day, even with Petra dissolving into sobs beside him; he wasn’t going to lose it now.

“Look at you,” his father said, brushing soot off his uniform before giving him a little shake. “You cut your hair.”

Auruo pushed it back with a sheepish look. “You’re the only one who noticed.”

The black eye went uncommented on, to Auruo’s great relief. He poured his father a cup of tea and the pair of them settled at the table, enjoying their customary companionable silence. His mother was the talker, and his brothers – they never met a silence they couldn’t stuff to bursting, and for the most part Auruo was the same. Even Petra’s silences made him nervous. The only quiet he could abide was his father’s.

But even that quiet didn’t hold. His father’s voice came from across a great distance, and he blinked hard to focus. “What?”

His father was studying him with worryingly bright eyes. “You remind me so much of them.”

A little jolt of fear shot through him; he didn’t know what he’d do if his father started crying. “Who?”

“My brothers …” he began, before smiling a little at Auruo. “Your uncles. They were soldiers too.”

Auruo froze. Not once had his father ever mentioned his brothers, not when Auruo asked, not when the neighbors plied him with their idle curiosity, not even when his mother appealed, pleaded, cajoled, and otherwise, frequently with tears in her eyes. It was the only major point of contention between them. There were some things David Bossard just didn’t talk about, and that was that.  

Auruo realized his hands were trembling. He clenched them into fists atop his knees, waiting with perfect stillness, so as not to frighten away his father’s uncharacteristic mood. It warred mightily with the part of him that feared to know, that sensed it was a breach from which they could not return.  

His father shook his head. “You remind me of them,” he said again, like he was admitting something to himself.

“What?”

“Especially Chauncy. He was sweet, like you. And he hated being told about it, just like you.”

“Are you kidding me!”

His father brought a finger to his lips. “Quietly.”

“Are you kidding me!” Auruo hissed over the table. Bad enough that Petra never let that shit go, now his father was in on it too. It figured.

“Don’t get upset. Being sweet isn’t such a bad thing.”

“It is for a soldier!”

His father shook his head. “It’s essential for anyone. We saw a lot of soldiers riding through our village, Survey Corps and the like – for some, there’s nothing sweet left in them, not even when they’re alone and safe. It’s no way to be.”

 _They probably knew that too_ , Auruo wanted to say. _Sometimes it can’t be helped._

His father leaned back, the chair groaning against his weight, his eyes distant. “Ames signed up when he was twelve, the moment he could, just like you wanted.  This was when we lived all the way west, a little hamlet outside of the district, so he never came home, and never bothered to write any letters, because he was like that, independent, had to do things himself. We didn’t see him until he graduated – told us all he was joining the Survey Corps, because they were the only ones that cared to do anything about anything. They sent us his things just two months later.” A winsome smile. “So you’re already better off.”

Auruo said nothing. If he opened his mouth, he’d vomit.  

“Ames dying should have put an end to it, but it just made Bertrand and Chauncey want to join even more, to finish what he’d started, take up the mantle, something something. They were like that. True believers. They worked a handful of years before they went off to training together … I think maybe they figured their odds were better if they had at least one person they could count on, and even more so if that person was family.” He trailed off, his eyes troubled, as if trying to conjure their faces from within the murk of his memory. “We never knew what happened for sure. They don’t tell you when they send the things back. For a long time I was so angry at them, I couldn’t think about them. Couldn’t let myself or I’d get so angry it – it felt like my chest was collapsing. Like someone was stacking stones on me, I just couldn’t … It hadn’t done them any good, just meant that we lost them both at the same time. That mattered more to them than the rest of us.

“But you and Petra … maybe it does help, that you’re together. You and your friends.”

“We weren’t even in the same squad,” Auruo said to his hands. “She was on the other side of formation entirely.”

“But you eat and train together. You share each other’s burdens. Maybe it does make a difference, knowing that no matter what someone who loves you has your back. They’ll be looking out for you.”

“Dad, geez,” Auruo muttered, scuffing his nose.  He should have expected something like this; his father, the wildcard. For such a simple, steady person, you never knew what you were going to get with him.

“What, is love not the right word?” His father’s eyes danced, lips twitching against laughter; a brief respite from the heaviness of his memory.

“Can you knock it off?”

 “Now, there’s no call to get upset, Auruo. You’ve been a little pair since the day you met.”

He covered his face with his hands, though there was no covering his burning ears anymore – the undercut bared his shame to the world.  “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because it’s funny. You make me happy.”

It was too much – too many people expressing emotions at him, too many had boiled within his own heart. He was beyond his capacity. “Dammit.”

But his father either tired of teasing or took pity on him, and they fell silent, listening to the sounds of the street through the open window; faint voices, muffled music, a cat caterwauling at the moon.

“You’re as brave as they were,” his father said, tracing the grain of wood on the table, tapping it for emphasis.

Auruo closed his eyes; he wasn’t brave at all. There were no words for how pathetic he had been, piss-soaked and terrified, frozen solid in the face of certain death, his heart stalled and useless in his chest. He’d never known his uncles, but somehow he knew they’d been better at it. Even ill-fated Ames. “Dad, c’mon.”

“I won’t say any more about it,” his father said, raising his hands. “I just wanted you to know about them. And I wanted to thank you, for turning it around in my head.”

“I didn’t even do anything,” Auruo muttered, scuffing at his undercut.  

“You and Petra left together, and you came back together,” his father said simply. “It was the right thing. I just had to see it in you.”

His eyes burned. This was the worst part – this was no interview at all, just staggering honesty. A long silence stretched between them, punctuated only by his mother’s rasping snores. “Why haven’t you told Mom?”

His father looked at his hands, picking a peeling callus at the base of his fingers. “Because she would want to talk about them, every now and then – you know how she is about her own family. Even if I told her not to, she couldn’t help it. She’d want to fix it. And I – can’t. But you won’t bring it up again, will you?”

Auruo shook his head.

“No, I didn’t think so. That’s why.” He thumped his hand on the table. “That’s all I got in me to say.”

Auruo understood that better than anything else; there was only so much you could say, and sometimes you needed a few years to say it. They sat in comfortable silence, sipping tea and listening to the city outside as the day faded into darkness. After a long while, he realized that out of every person alive in the world, his father trusted only Auruo with his painful memories, and that he had done so to comfort him. _You aren’t alone_ , they might have said, these uncles he’d never met. _You’ll never be alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter is basically half of what i wanted to write but it got really long so i had to break it off. thanks for reading and reviewing and kudoing etc!


	36. Chapter 36

The clouds held until midnight, when a furious deluge descended onto the city. Auruo was soaked the minute he slipped outside, dropping down from the windowsill into a puddle up to his ankles. A rush of rainwater surged down the slick cobbles, soggy scraps of newspaper and cigarette butts caught in its wake. He stumbled through the streets, heedless of his footing, blind to his surroundings beyond the most cursory detail, only as much as he needed to find his way.

He had waited; he had tried to sleep this time, but fear eventually overcame him. He didn’t want to risk a nightmare around his family. They would worry, and he didn’t want them to worry more than they already were.  

His heart thrummed desperately against his ribs, pulsing in his throat until each beat tasted like bile. He thought of Petra’s father lurking somewhere in her kitchen, a sharp, unsmiling slash of a mouth in the dark, a knife in his hand. Dramatic, ridiculous; yet somehow, as he crept through the streets he feared the possibility of being caught more than anything else he’d seen. It wasn’t like Mr. Ral would kill him, and he’d long since stopped caring what the man thought of him personally. Leftover fear stalked his thoughts, anchoring itself to the first convenient target that appeared.

Even in the middle of the night, Karanese was alive; every third house glowed with light from wide windows, made hazy by curtains in every color. Garrison guards huddled by the gates, and Military Police patrolled the flooded streets with their cloaks plastered to their backs, lanterns glowing like distant fireflies through the murk. The breweries and brothels to the north would be enjoying a roaring trade, replete with sailors and merchants and lowlifes looking to forget their troubles for a night; Auruo could almost hear the commotion from half the city away, even over the rain. The eastern neighborhoods were always quieter. Shops and salons were more common for the city’s comfortable middle class, and they had more reason to keep the peace; as he passed one, cultured conversation drifted from the open doors, flung wide to let the cool air inside.

Some proprietors even called out to him, unafraid of a ragged shadow in the rain. “How about you come inside and get dry,” one said as he drifted by. “Take the edge off. I’ve got a brandy from the arbors, just came in today –“

He barely heard them. _I’ll see you,_ Petra had said, too upset to even force a smile. Her eyes pulled at him, pleaded; her misery cut him to the bone. He’d wanted her to stay more than he could articulate; it was hours after she had gone when he realized he should have been the one to take her home, so she wouldn’t have had to make that walk alone, with only her agonizing to keep her company. _Stupid_ , he cursed himself, _stupid, stupid …_ He would make up for it now.

He took the last block at a dead sprint. Rain whipped at his face, and each heavy footfall spattered a wake of dirty water against the sides of the whitewashed brick houses. The back of his neck prickled with awareness; if he crept along a patrol might assume he was a criminal casing a mark, but a sprinting shadow could be nothing more than an unlucky dope caught in a storm, soaked to his bones. Only when he reached Petra’s home did he look over his shoulder before darting into the alley.

The pile of crates by her window had been disturbed, knocked aside by the storm, perhaps. _Or a shitty old man who figured out our game._ Dread curdled his stomach, but he’d come too far to turn back now; all he had to do was think about her eyes and desperate determination overrode everything else. He dragged the crates back as quietly as he could, wincing at the sound of wood scraping against stone, though the rain had grown so loud that he couldn’t hear when the window creaked open.

“Auruo?”

He looked up, blinking rainwater out of his eyes. She crawled onto the windowsill and leaned out, her bright auburn hair swinging over her shoulder as she reached to him, raindrops spattering the sleeve and collar of her nightshirt. The sight of her took him by the heart, her lovely features rendered nearly inhuman by the weak wet light; her skin bone pale, her eyes wide and wounded and desperately needful, as if she’d survived a thousand years of solitude.  “Hurry,” she urged, shaking her hand at him. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

She leaned further, and the wide collar of her shirt slipped down, revealing the tops of her breasts. His stomach jolted; it hadn’t even been that long since the last time he’d seen her naked, yet the sight always staggered him, chased by the heady realization that he _could_ look, that it wasn’t unwelcome when they were alone. He gaped dumbly until she shook her hand again, more forcefully this time. “Come on.” He heard the smile in her voice, stitched tight between twitching lips. 

Heart lurching, he clambered onto the precarious pile of crates and hauled himself through her window, careful to keep from chipping paint or breaking glass with a poorly placed elbow. As he slipped out of his shoes she shook out a large towel and wrapped him inside, vigorously blotting him dry.

“The water will warp the floors, then Dad will start asking questions. He might even figure it out.” She spoke with curt authority, all business. “And you’re cold.”

“So warm me up,” he challenged.

Her eyes flicked up to his, the beginnings of a smile turning her mouth. Her hands traveled the length of him, down to his shins and up again half as slow, trailing the line of his thighs as she pulled the clinging fabric from his skin, and he shivered. She wasn’t even touching bare flesh, yet already her hands inflamed; they were alone, finally alone, and he could allow himself to be affected by the warmth of her body beside his, the barest suggestion of a touch.  

She swept the towel over his chest, his neck, her motions brisk with a desperate edge. When she felt his fingers at her wrist, she met his gaze. Raindrops speckled her cheek, and her eyelashes framed two swallowing pools of molten amber, a color he had never seen before. She bit her lower lip; half-naked, with her filmy nightshirt clinging to her body, the innocent gesture became obscene. In this light, she was beautiful in the way storms are; a force of nature at which one can only marvel before it consumes you whole. And he wanted to be consumed, utterly obliterated by her need, until nothing remained to separate them, not even duty.

She let the towel fall. Mist swept in from the open window, until she almost seemed to glow before him, kissed by dew. After weeks spent inoculating himself to her presence, the sudden freedom to notice her was almost more than he could stand; each detail tore at him, burrowed beneath his heart. He was instantly drunk, processing only effects without cause; the pressure of her fingers as she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, the heat of her breath at the corner of his mouth, the taste of her lips.

“Auruo,” she whispered, her voice shaking as she skimmed her fingers up his stomach. And it hit him all at once; he didn’t have to wait anymore, or pretend that she didn’t mean as much to him as she really did. Comrades, old friends, that much was acceptable, but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t true. The truth was he never loved his name as much as he did when she said it, and he never loved himself the way he did when the words came from her mouth, on a swell of laughter or breathless need. Only she could make him worthy of it.

Her cool hands slipped inside his open shirt, tugging it off his shoulders until it puddled at their feet. He watched her drink in the sight of him like she was half-starved, marveling at the need in her wide, slightly-unfocused eyes, a perfect mirror of his own. He took her by the waist and pressed her close, until he could feel her trembling against him, and she was warm, so warm.

He still didn’t kiss her, not then; not even when her fingers skimmed the waist of his pants, slipping inside, not even when her breath warmed his ear. He gritted his teeth and took desperate inventory, this time unhindered by their uniform; kneading up the notches of her spine, ascending to her neck, the delicate curve of the back, birdlike collarbones. He’d never really noticed how small she was, how starkly different they were from each other. When he skimmed her breasts with his palms, she made a needy sound, clutching his wandering hand.

He almost cursed; the minute she kissed him, he wouldn’t be able to stop, and he needed to know that she was whole, that some essential piece of her hadn’t been carved out by the expedition, some sprain or broken bone she didn’t mention because she didn’t want to inconvenience anyone, some piece of her heart. He might have lifted his hand, or she might have; he moved with dreamlike slowness, as if pushing his weighted limbs through water. He traced the line of her cheek with one finger, sweeping under her eye in a loose bell curve before brushing the edge of his thumb against her lips, back and forth. Her breath caught, warming his fingers. 

She arched against him, nipples hard against his chest, and he felt himself stiffening, and he couldn’t wait anymore; he took her lovely face in his hands and kissed her. He wanted to be slow here too, but when their lips met he was lost, overcome by memory and need working in brutal tandem; she held him by the pants again, pressing his hips into hers, and a ragged groan escaped him. Gripping a fistful of her nightshirt, he tore it over her head and flung it away, where it landed with a muffled sound across the room.

The sight of her naked demolished the last of his control; roughly, he swept her up and pushed her back into her bed, clambering atop her as she gasped, eyes popping wide. Her loose hair spread out on the pillow like a nimbus of burnished gold, haloing the visage of an otherworldly being; he was a penitent on pilgrimage, never more aware of his unworthiness as he was in the sight of the divine.

Her hands twined in his hair, around his neck, her fingers tracing fire. Shivering at her touch, he pushed open her legs and knelt between them. “God, Petra,” he breathed, sliding his hands up her thighs, palms balancing atop her hip bones.

She propped up on one elbow, pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He could feel her concern burgeoning in the silence like heat; it was both ludicrous and lovely that she thought anything could bother him in this moment, a testament to her goodness and lack of guile. “You’re beautiful,” he said hoarsely, tracing the curve of her breast with one trembling finger. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Her eyes widened, lips parting – in surprise, or need? “Take off your pants,” she commanded breathlessly.

“I will, I was just gonna …”

She shook her head, holding his gaze with iron certainty. “I want you inside me.”

The room went airless, his dumb reply caught in the back of his throat – had there ever been a more unbearably erotic command? Growling with frustration, he rolled away and awkwardly wrestled off his pants before hurling them across the room, where they clipped the corner of the window with a wet thud. “Shh!” Petra hissed, giggling, and pulled him back on top of her. “You’re going to wake him up.”

He dragged the covers over their heads, where they settled with a rush of cool, humid air, the outside world’s final touch. “He won’t be able to hear anything over that storm.”

“You never know.”

“Mhm …” He pressed a burning trail of kisses along the line of her jaw, dragging his hips against hers until she squirmed beneath him. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest, her trembling exhale warming the space between them.

“Why are you being so slow?” she complained, squeezing his thigh until he gasped.

“Ah –! Stop pinching!” He pushed her hair aside and buried his face against her neck. “Do you have someplace to be or something? Let me enjoy you.”

She slipped her hand between them, fingers curling around his length and stroking with aching slowness, and brought her lips to his ear. “I want you to devour me.”

A shudder blazed up his spine. She was going to kill him. “That’s coming, you horrible nag.”

“Make it come faster.”

To her credit, she managed to keep a straight face for a few moments before her serious expression crumpled; she snorted, dissolving into giggles, and it was so ridiculously adorable that he couldn’t help laughing too. “You’re not funny.”

“Why are you laughing, then?”

“It’s pity. I feel really sorry for you.”

“Liar.” She craned up and kissed the tip of his nose. “I laugh at your dumb jokes all the time.”

“You give me just as much shit, if not more.”  

She rolled her eyes, and a grin threatened his lips again; only she could make such an irritating gesture so endearing. “You’re exaggerating.”

“ _You’re_ ridiculous.” But she was chewing on her lip again, shaking with the effort of keeping her laughter at bay; all it took was driving a finger into her ribs for her faltering composure to break, and for a while all they could do was giggle at each other like children, jabbing fingers and elbows into weak spots and choking back guffaws that would summon her father. It wasn’t really that funny, but it felt so good to laugh with her again that it didn’t matter; all that mattered was her intoxicating smile, the feel of her shaking beneath him, bare skin to bare skin. He would die for that smile.

He was still snickering when she reached up to trace his eyebrow with one trembling finger, her lips half-curved as she studied him, and the laughter stalled in his chest. She sketched the bruise over his nose before sweeping out to his cheekbone, his chin, the lines on either side of his mouth. He lost himself in her eyes, lost track of time; he forgot what it felt like to hate himself. There was no room for it in this place. He couldn’t hate something she looked at with such love.

“What?” he croaked when the silence grew too long for him to bear.

“You’re here,” she whispered, framing his face between her burning hands. Her eyes were bright in the darkness. “You’re okay.”

It was impossible that this should make her so happy; years of loving her and being loved by her, and it still staggered him that it was even possible, let alone real. He would never take it for granted. She was okay, and she needed him; unblemished and unbroken, just as soft and warm and lovely as she’d been the last time they were here. Just as alive. Eyes squeezing shut, he covered the top of her hand with his and crushed his lips to her palm, to the pale scar stitched to her skin.

She gripped his waist and pulled him close, arching against him as his hips twitched forward; her lips found his before he’d opened his eyes. And her mouth was sweet, so impossibly soft, and he needed her, he needed her, he needed her so badly that it filled and consumed him, subdued each observation and concern until she was all that remained, somehow needing him just as much.

When she took his cock in her hand, he shuddered so badly he fell on top of her, a poorly-stifled moan escaping between clenched teeth. “Shh,” she chastised him, rubbing his cock between her legs, and she was so wet that this time he couldn’t swallow the embarrassing sound at all; only the storm saved them from being overheard. 

She canted her hips toward his with renewed desperation, until he teased her lips, her softness. “Auruo,” she pleaded, and with a ragged groan, he thrust into her.

The world faded: the sound of rain, soldiers patrolling the streets, her open window tapping gently against the wall with each breath of wind. His awareness shuttered to the girl beneath him; each synapse attuned to her every gasp and moan. Her lips parted as he pressed into her with impossible slowness, trembling from the impossible effort of holding himself steady.

His control lasted all of thirty seconds; when he pressed his face to her neck, she cupped the back of his head, her lips straying up his jaw to trace the outer curve of his ear with her tongue. Unhindered by the hair that once protected him, she nibbled on his earlobe and laughed when his pace faltered, his hips shuddering gracelessly into hers.

 “What, you like that?”

“D-don’t be smug.” He pushed into her again before she could get any other horrible ideas, smirking when she gasped. “You gotta keep it down.” 

She wiggled her hips so he shifted inside her. “I can’t help it . . . you feel too good.” 

“F-fuck.” He would die. She was going to kill him. “ _You_ feel good,” he murmured, tipping his brow forward so it rested against hers, so they shared the same breath. “You feel so good.”

He didn’t know if he moved, or if she was the one to pull him in to the hilt, like she needed more of him, all of him, everything he could give. Already he was too close, but his body moved of its own accord. Just as she asked, he devoured her; kissing her hard enough to bruise, cupping her ass closer, driving deeper. Her legs crossed around his waist, her heels bounced against his hip, and she threw her head back, arching beneath him. And she was so beautiful, he was lost; her breasts bouncing with each desperate thrust, her lips parted, eyes half-lidded and hungry, hungry for him, somehow –

A staggering rush consumed him – so impossibly exquisite that his mind went blank, and he almost pulled out too late, spurting her belly and thighs with come only at the very edge of his control.   

“I’m sorry,” he gasped as he drew back, his cock twitching absurdly in his hand. “F-fuck –“

It took her a moment to catch her breath; foggy desire fading to concern. “Auruo! It’s fine,” she said, reaching for him. “Wil gave me something.”

As she propped up on her elbow and rummaged through her bedside table for something to clean herself with, he rocked back on the balls of his feet, apprehension gnawing at his thoughts. Already the insulated world of their lovemaking receded, replaced by stark, cold reality. _It’s probably tansy._ “Where’d she get this something.”

It was Petra’s turn to look sheepish. “Actually … Inge gave her some.”

“Who the hell is Inge?”

“The Head Medic.”

He blinked, stunned to his core. “At headquarters?”

“I know,” she murmured as she swiped between her legs. “I figured they wouldn’t have anything, because of the regs – but I suppose the Commander decided to be pragmatic. Since it’s not as if they can be everywhere all the time, and stressed, desperate people tend to … find outlets.”

He snorted. “That’s such a cute way to put it.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“How about we find an outlet again, what d’you say.”

She shoved him, and he almost pitched out of the bed, catching himself against her at the last minute. “You’re terrible.”

“Right, I’m terrible. The worst. Now are you going to let me eat your pussy or not?”

She cuffed him on the head, hard enough that he nearly fell over again. “Why do you always have to be so disgusting about everything?”

“It’s part of my charm.”

 _“What_ charm?” But she tucked a mussed tendril of hair behind her ear and bit her lip, that lovely smile threatening to overtake the censure, and he loved her so much that it threatened to rip him open, burst from his chest and live in the world on its own. He rocked back on his heels and knelt between her legs, brushing his palms atop her ribs, her hips.

“This is pretty charming,” he murmured, ducking his head to press slow kisses up her thigh, ascending until he could nearly taste the heat of her. Somehow, he made himself hesitate just over the threshold, teasing agonizing circles with his tongue; with a moan of frustration, she wound her fingers taut in his hair, pressing his face down.

~

The rain had nearly petered out when Petra returned from the water closet, smelling vaguely of lavender and allspice. She eased the door shut, holding her breath until the latch clicked into place before skipping across the room, her bare feet scuffing the floors. Auruo threw the covers open, and she crawled back inside, curling up against his chest and slinging an arm around his bare waist as he pulled them back over their heads. Soon, the air grew warm from their breath; she stretched her legs until her feet poked out of the bed, sighing with indolent bliss.

“Come on,” Auruo groused, shaking the blankets back over them. “It’s cold.”

“Don’t be such a baby.”

“It is! I’m going to catch my death in this torture chamber. My feet are gonna freeze off. Look, I’m getting frostbite.”

“Close the window yourself if you feel that strongly about it.”

“I think I’d rather just annoy you.”  

They lapsed into an easy quiet; she traced circles on his stomach with one finger, loops and curls that branched from his navel up his chest, then down again to his hipbones. He stroked her hair and listened to the sound of her breathing, soft and slow as a summer breeze. He thought of their racing tree and the afternoons they spent beneath its branches, nibbling on bread and cheese while they told each other stories, and dozing as the leaves whispered above them. That tree was far beyond their reach now, but sunny days weren’t so uncommon. Not even from the other side of the Walls.

Memories threatened, and he felt the reflexive impulse to bury them beneath the present: Petra in his arms, her lips on his neck, Petra gasping his name as she clutched the pillow above her head.  It took him a long while to notice she had buried her face tightly against his chest, trembling so badly that he was afraid she had started to cry.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”  

She lifted her face to meet his gaze, and her eyes nearly cut the heart out of him; it was a thousand times worse than tears, went deeper than they could express. “I thought we’d never be able to do this again,” she whispered, voice catching. “I’d think about it every now and then, when we were just riding, just waiting for something to show up. That it might not matter if I made it back alive, because you could have died. Or Wil, or Martin and Axel, or …”

“I didn’t.” He forced himself to leave the rest unspoken; his fears wouldn’t help assuage her own, and the last thing he wanted was to make her feel worse. “You didn’t either. We’re okay this time, and … we know what to expect next time.”

She was quiet; he could barely hear her breathing anymore. “Tell me what happened,” she said finally. Reaching up, she brushed his face with her fingers – testing, sketching the lines on either side of his mouth. Lingering for as long as she wanted. “What happened to you?”

He’d spent his entire furlough warding away this question, but suddenly he wanted nothing more than to spill his guts for her, lay out every horror and shame and failure he’d experienced, because he couldn’t carry it alone anymore. Not even the customary fear of judgment made him reconsider.

He took a deep breath, let it out twice as slow, and a lock of her hair fluttered against his nose. “I was with Wil, you knew that. We didn’t see anything the whole morning. Not a Titan, just – a flat stretch of land, nothing in it but ruins and bones. Wil was shitting herself practically, and I – I wasn’t too much better. I thought about you a lot.”

“I thought about _you_. That time we spied on the governor and his piano.”

“I thought about our tree …”

She sniffed hard, burying her face against his chest.

“On the way back, we ran into some. There was a guy, the hilt-clicker guy, he bought it. One second he’s about to kill the thing and the next it’s got him in its jaws. Brandt met up with us, we followed her the rest of the way. There were messages coming and going, I didn’t know any of riders. Before we got to the gates there was this horde – I don’t know how many there were, twenty maybe? I don’t remember that much of it, to tell you the truth.”

“Me either,” Petra admitted in a whisper.

He hesitated; the worst was yet to come, terror and shame and fear beyond anything he’d ever known in his life. “It was raining too hard to see. Stupid was riding so slow, because of the mud – and I saw everything – pieces of –“ He swallowed the bile crawling up his throat. “Piles of people.”

She nodded tightly, clutching him with renewed desperation.

“I was almost back and something knocked me down – I don’t know, I was watching the gate bob closer and the next thing I knew I was on the ground, spitting out mud and trying to figure out what the hell was going on. And I saw it moving through the rain, faster than I’d ever seen – faster than anything, it was throwing up a wake of mud as it came toward me. I remember that much. I –“ His face burned with shame; he closed his eyes against it, forcing the words out. “It was reaching for me, and I – my whole body just emptied, I—fuck, I pissed myself, and – I couldn’t even think, I forgot everything I was supposed to know, it was just – that was it, the only thing in my head was watching how fast thing was coming at me. I couldn’t even pick up my blades. I didn’t even know what they were.”

“That happened to me too,” she said in a small voice. “Wetting myself … I was on my horse, though.”

He hadn’t expected that she would judge him, but knowing that they shared this made him feel a little better, like it wasn’t a personal failing but understandable, even common. “Something was chasing me,” she continued. “Its steps were shaking the ground so bad my teeth were rattling, and it started swiping at me; I could feel the air moving behind me, even with the rain. It jumped around and I saw it – its face, I can’t stop seeing its face now – like it was stuck screaming. Then someone saved me, I don’t know who. I couldn’t see them.”  

He knew logically that she would have faced death as often as he had on expedition, perhaps more, but hearing the reality of it chilled him to his bones. He couldn’t stop picturing it; the Titan catching her by the cloak, sweeping her off her horse and crushing her beneath its fist, squeezing her to death, pulling her apart. He closed his eyes and clung to her so tightly that she squeaked. “Sorry,” he whispered thickly.

She reached up to push a curl out of his eyes, her hand drifting down to cup his cheek, and even in the midst of their cold memories, she was still so warm. “How did you escape?”  

“It was Captain Levi,” Auruo said. “Out of nowhere. It was reaching for me and the next thing I knew he was standing between me and the Titan, looking down at me. I remember the mud was so deep that he had to grapple out of it – almost halfway up his shins. He – he said something to me, but I can’t – I can’t remember. I can’t remember what he said. It’s the first time he ever really spoke to me and I can’t even remember …

“Then – then there was an Aberrant, and a group of recruits, it looked like, I didn’t – I just saw a flash of them retreating, a flash that looked like your hair. And I …”

“Oh, Auruo, you didn’t!” Her voice was tight with unshed tears.

That hurt him worse than anything. He’d resolved to tell her the truth, no matter how she reacted, but the truth was hard, and her pain hurt him worse. “Please don’t yell at me about this,” he said wearily, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. “I know it was dumb. I wasn’t thinking about it, I mean – you know what happens. Brandt already gave me the shit over it, anyway.”

“Did anyone help you?”

“No … there was too much else going on, I think. I dunno. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“How could you do that after you’d almost --?”

“I told you … I didn’t think about it.”

“Well, _think_ about it next time!” A sob rippled through her, and she forced it down with a long, slow breath. “I’m sorry.”

He going to start crying if she didn’t get it together; in fact, he might anyway. “I’m sorry,” he echoed, brushing his hand up and down her back. Maybe he did cry a little then; he forced himself not to notice anything but Petra. “I’m sorry …”

“It was almost the same,” she breathed. “We didn’t see anything the entire morning. Oskar told me a fable that he liked – about a rabbit with a red foot. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk so much – that was him being nervous, I think. He’d never been that nervous before.”

Auruo knew the fable only because Axel had come up with a dirty version, to the delight of the training barracks. The memory felt decades distant.

Petra took a steadying breath. “I saw a girl; she was trying to grapple to a belltower and banked wrong, and I – I heard her back –“

Auruo flinched.

“So she couldn’t move, and the Titan just scooped her up and – ate her like it was nothing, like it was _boring.”_   Her eyes shone with tears, and her voice dropped to a vehement whisper. “Why do they do this? They don’t need to eat humans to survive, and they don’t even seem to enjoy it. Why are they here? Did we do something to deserve this?”

“Of course not.” He rubbed her back consolingly; the ridges of her spine pressed against his palm, reassuring him in a way he had no name for. “For one thing, what could anyone do to deserve _this?_ And it’s happening to everyone, so what could we have all done, stuck in here? And who’s passing this kind of divine bullshit judgment on us? We’re not cursed or doomed or – being punished specifically. Stuff just … happens. Maybe there are some lousy jerks, but there are good people too and none of them deserve this. You don’t deserve this, my brothers don’t –“

“You’re right,” she said softly.  

“None of you deserve this, so if some divine jackass really is passing judgment, they’re wrong. And – and –“

“And we’ll stop them,” Petra finished for him, her voice thrumming with resolve. “No matter what it is, or why – we’ll stop them. That’s the point of all this.”

“Right.”

She pulled herself out of his arms and fixed him with that stare he knew and loved so well, the prelude to a promise, deep and binding as blood. “I can’t watch your back when we’re in different squads, but I can here – I can listen, and I can carry what you see with you. I’ll tell you the same, we’ll tell each other everything that happens. And since we’re both soldiers, we’re allowed to talk about it – we’re not breaking our vows. So it’ll have happened to both of us, in some way, and we won’t have to carry it alone. Okay?”

He couldn’t say anything; the words caught in his tightening throat. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to start sniveling again, and this time she’d notice. He nodded and leaned in to kiss her, and hoped she’d understand. When she broke away and curled up beside him again, wrapping her arm around his waist, he let out the ragged breath he’d been holding,

“So, was your dad in one of his moods, or did he decide to be nice this time?” Auruo asked when he trusted his voice not to crack.

“He was … trying.”

“Yikes. That bodes well.”

She huffed. “It wasn’t that bad. He had work, he’s been busy …  the house was a bit of a mess when I got here.”

“’A bit of a mess’, huh …”

Her cheeks reddened at the lie. “Fine. It looked like someone had ransacked the place. Or like no one had been home in weeks. He was still at the bakery, so I thought I’d pick up for him –“

“Are you kidding me?”

She flapped her hand at him. “He came home, it was nice. We had soup in bread bowls, that was nice too. He … wanted to know about the expedition, and got upset when I wouldn’t tell him.”

“Of course he did … you told him we’re not supposed to talk about it with civilians, right?”

“He seemed to expect being an exception.”

“Why would he be? He doesn’t even try to understand at the best of times, why would he get to be some special insider over someone who actually tries for other people.”

“Auruo,” she chided gently.

“Sorry.”

“I know it’s because he worried,” she whispered, “but I can’t help feeling ... a little angry. I wasn’t at first, I was just happy to see him, and he was so unhappy, he needed so much help. When I came home and everything was a mess, and nothing was laid out – I didn’t care then. It was when he came home, he acted like he’d seen a ghost. He just fell apart. And I realized it was because he didn’t even consider I could have survived, it never crossed his mind. He’ll never stop underestimating us – our training and instincts. The years we spent honing our skills.” Her eyes blazed, burned him. “He thinks he’s justified because it’s dangerous, but he should have some faith, at least a little. He should _try_ to believe.”

“That’s what you’re angry about?”

“Well, yes! Doesn’t that make you angry? We graduated at the top of our class! We worked really hard for years, you only missed the top spot because of the written exams.”

“Don’t bring that up,” he muttered irritably. Dismay overwhelmed him; it wouldn’t have mattered how awful the state of their house was if her father had at least tried – she would see to it all gladly, with no reservation. Only his doubt wounded her.  “Look, he has to believe in us now. At least a little. Since we made it back once before, that’s always going to be stuck in the back of his mind, whether he likes it or not. He starts wallowing and he’ll have to remember.”

“I suppose …” She went quiet, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead, catching her lower lip between her teeth in the same sympathetic gesture that ensnared him so many years ago. “It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have to convince myself too.”

“Yeah.”

“I always miss my mother when it gets like this,” she said on a trembling breath. Two tears spilled from her eyes, and Auruo swept them away with his thumb. “I don’t hurt as much over it anymore, but today was as bad as it’s ever been. Like those first weeks after she died. You couldn’t do anything without feeling her absence, you couldn’t wash your face without remembering her doing it, and lecturing very seriously about it. You’re supposed to pat your face dry, not wipe. You know? It’s better for your skin.” A self-deprecating smile. “She was a little vain.”

But Auruo nodded seriously. “That makes sense.”

Outside, a muffled chorus of shouting echoed off the damp brick walls; one of the Military Police calling the hour out to another. “What would she have thought of this? Would she have been happy, or proud, or would she be like Dad …”

“I doubt she’d be that much of a rotten asshole.”

She didn’t pinch him, didn’t even say a word. Her silence shook him more than anything; her father must have been especially hurtful if she couldn’t even muster a defense on his behalf. “I’ll never know for sure.”

“You could probably make a pretty good guess, though,” he said as encouragingly as he could, chafing her arm a little for emphasis. “You said she cared about this kind of stuff.”

“Yeah … she liked soldiers.  She always wanted to say hello when they passed through, see if them had any news from the other districts, you know, since they travel more than anyone else. But – I don’t know, it could be different. Dad talks about the military being a noble, honorable pursuit too, but it’s almost like – it’s because that’s what you’re supposed to say. He doesn’t really believe it, or he does in theory but not when it comes to his personal life. It’s okay only as long as it’s someone else’s child.”

It was the unkindest thing she’d ever said about her father, in nearly seven years of knowing her. She seemed to realize it when Auruo’s stunned silence grew too long; her expression crumpled, and she covered her face with her hands. “That was horrible, I’m horrible.”

“Hey, hey – geez!” He gently pulled her hands away. “You’re not horrible.”

“Yeah, I am. You’d never say anything like that about your family.”

“They don’t treat me like your dad treats you!”

“He’s not as awful as you think, Auruo. Besides, it’s not right, it’s horrible –“  

“Stop it. What’s horrible is that asshole making you pick up his mess because he couldn’t be bothered while you were away. Because that’s what he thinks you’re supposed to do around here, take care of him.”

“That’s not what it was like,” she disagreed quietly. “It was like … I don’t know. He wasn’t trying to make a point, he just couldn’t. Couldn’t bring himself to.”

There was no use arguing; her sadness took the savor out of being right. But he knew what _couldn’t_ looked like, and the gulf between it and _wouldn’t_. “If you say so.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Petra …”

She covered her face with her hands again. “I just – I just want things to be nice sometimes. I want the people I care about to stop arguing and snapping at each other and just … be nice. Considerate.”

Tenderness threatened to choke him. “Like you,” he said. 

“It doesn’t have to be like me! It could be your own version of considerate.  I just want my father to stop insulting you and nitpicking about _stupid_ things that don’t even matter to anyone. And I want you to stop piling on him whenever he does something – whenever –”

“I’m not piling on him, I’m angry that he’s always making you feel like crap whenever you come home. It’s part of some bullshit routine by now; the second you get here your dad’s gotta mix you up about something, doesn’t matter what. And you spend the whole time feeling sad, or feeling guilty for feeling sad, and it’s shit. It’s shit that he does this.”

“He’s not trying to be hurtful.”

“It doesn’t matter what he’s _trying_ to do, what he’s doing is making you sick to your stomach in your own fucking house. It’s bullshit.” Anger caught his words, turned them sharp. “You should have just stayed home, with me. My family spent the whole night shoving food at me and telling me how great I was. He should have been doing that.”

She buried her face against his neck. “You _are_ great.”

“We’re not talking about me right now.”

“I’d rather talk about you than anything.” Her lips brushed his jaw. “Or not talk.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“What?”

“You think you can distract me with –“

“I don’t think,” she interrupted, her lips curving as she slipped a leg between his and pulled herself closer, dragging her hips against his. “I know.”

She kissed him before he could construct a retort, and her mouth was hot and wet and sweet. For a moment, he gave into the onslaught; kissing her was so natural, so easy, she felt too good to be real. It took all his willpower to break away and gently disentangle himself. “C’mon …” he managed, holding her back by her shoulders. “That’s cheap.”

“I like kissing you, is that a crime?”

“You’re not doing it just because you like kissing, you’re doing it for nefarious purposes.”

She snorted. “ _Nefarious_ purposes, come on!”

He continued with wounded dignity. “And I don’t have anything I can do to throw you off the way you throw me off, so it’s not fair.”

“Oh, you’re worried about fair, now? It wasn’t such a problem when you had to cheat to win one of our races.”

“Just one! It was my birthday and – you know what, you needed a little humbling! You know how many races you’ve won? How many times I’ve had to look at your smug little face –“

“But you like my face.”

He sighed stubbornly. “Point is you’re just as bad, so you don’t get to play innocent with me.”

With a mysterious smile, she took his hand and brought her lips to his fingers, her breath warming cold skin. “You do things that throw me off too, you know.”

He blinked, his thoughts stalling. “What?”

“Of course you do. Why are you surprised?” She pressed her lips to each knuckle, and her lips were impossibly soft. “Did you miss the last few hours?”

“Very cute.”

“Well, did you?”

As her hands wandered lower, sweeping over his chest down his stomach, heat rushed to his face; he took her by the wrist before she could make it any worse. “You live to torture me.”

She ignored his petulant retort. “It always throws me off when you do this – you’ll admit something sensitive, or maybe you let it slip because you got carried away with your emotions again, and you rub the back of your neck and look down bashfully, like you’re waiting for someone to make fun of you for it. Then there’s this little moment when you remember that I won’t, I would never, not about something like that. And your eyes start smiling first, but before long it’s taken over all of you. You look a little sheepish, but it’s soft too; so tender it cuts right through me.” She paused, brushing his lips with her thumb, the way he had done hours before. “You look at me like you kiss me. Everything you feel is over your face, all the time. That’s what gets me.”

He blinked down at her; he felt naked in a way he never had before, not only disrobed but _seen,_ down to the shameful, ugly depths he tried so hard to conceal. That she could look at him that way after _seeing_ him so clearly was impossible, and wonderful, and he never loved anyone as much as he loved her in that moment – he never wanted to be seen by anyone else.

She squeezed his hand, smiling at his undoubtedly moony expression. “I’m so glad you came, Auruo.”

He shifted, looking away uncomfortably. “Well, g --”

“—geez,” she said at the same time, in a passable imitation of his voice. 

“Why d’you always thank me? It’s not like I’m making some big sacrifice here.”

“It is a risk, though,” she said. A flash of a smile before she leaned close, brushing her lips against the corner of his mouth. “My dad could hear something, barge in here. Catch you with your pants down.”

“Are you trying to get me to leave?”

“I don’t know, is that enough to scare you away?”

With a lusty growl, he captured her wrist and parted her legs with his knee, rolling atop and pinning her hard. “I’m here, aren’t I?” He kissed her before she could reply.

This time, he lasted longer than three minutes.

 

~

After they could move again, Petra slipped out of bed and craned out the window, naked as day. “I think it’ll be dawn soon.”

He buried his face in her pillows, breathing in the scent of her hair over faint traces of soap. “Don’t say that …”

She was back in bed before he looked up again; before she could flop on him, he slung an arm around her waist and pulled her close, pressing his hips against her rear until she squirmed. “What are you doing?” she said, her breath catching.

“Enjoying you,” he said lazily. “Worshiping you. Since you’re kicking me out soon.”

“What’s that have to do with anything?”

“I need to get my fill now, since we’ll have to starve again soon.” He reached up to cup her breast, sweeping his thumb over her stiffening nipple, and heard her breath catch. “Make hay while the sun shines and all that.” 

Never to be outdone, she rocked her hips back against his and wiggled with deliberate intention. “How are you hard again already?”

“Well, I don’t know! Couldn’t possibly have anything to do with you grinding up on me.”

“I mean how aren’t you _tired_?”

He let out a slow exhale, releasing her breast, and pulled her closer. “I am tired.”

She _hmmed_ in response, fingers idly twining with his atop her stomach.

“I want to sleep with you,” he murmured into her hair, and grinned when she shivered against him. “Sleep through the whole night with you in my arms. And I don’t have to sneak out before the sun comes up, we don’t have anywhere to be. We could sleep until noon if we wanted.”

She giggled. “Way too late.”

“You’re crazy.”

“It’s too late! The day’s half done by then!”

He nuzzled her neck, breathing the smell of her hair, her skin. “How about … ten bells.”

“Is that supposed to be a compromise?”

“Yeah, actually! You stingy nag.”

“Seven bells.”

“Nine.”

“Six.”

He jabbed a cold finger into her ribs, smirking as she flailed. “Why are you so awful to me? Does my suffering amuse you?” He affected the exaggerated cadence of mummers and street performers. “Free me, cruel woman. Have mercy on your servant.”

She thrashed, kicking at his shins. “You’re so stupid.”

“Well, you’re the stupid fucking the stupid, who’s the real dummy here, hm?”

“It’s definitely you. Eight bells and that’s my final offer.”

He sighed exaggeratedly and sent slack, head tipping forward to rest against the back of hers, and a lock of bright auburn hair fluttered against face, making his nose twitch. “You’re so generous.”

“It _is_ generous, you incorrigible twit. We’ll wake up at eight … maybe stay in bed until noon, if you’re not completely terrible.”

That got his attention. “Well, why didn’t you say so before?”

“I said _maybe_. And only if you’re not terrible. Which you are, all the time.”  

“That’s not what you said a few hours ago.”

“I changed my mind. You are so very clearly terrible, I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Right. You know, if it was up to me, which it’s probably not, we’d never leave the room. I’d fuck you every possible way there is to be fucked, until you got sick of me. Is that so terrible?”

“I hate that word,” she groused. “Don’t say rutting, either.”

“What am I allowed to say, then?”

“You know what.” She stroked the hand that rested atop her hip, traced each of his fingers, her touch whisper light. “And I’ll never get sick of you, or the way you make me feel. Even though you’re terrible.”

The words sent a contented shudder up his spine. “Takes one to know one, Petra Ral.”

But this close to sunrise, the warmth of their own world couldn’t last. A little voice whispered in the back of his thoughts, a nagging fear he couldn’t forget for long, not even here, beneath a pile of heavy blankets, and Petra so warm and solid in his arms. _You can’t know that,_ it reminded him. _You never know what will happen._ Closing his eyes, he buried his face in her sweet hair and ran his hand up her shoulder, shivering with her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just want you all to know this genuinely murdered me.
> 
> here's some concept art for part 2 by the lovely [orange peach blossoms](www.orange-peach-blossoms.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://imgur.com/OVlunoq)  
> 


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is a little different -- after some prompting i decided to write some interludes about my OCs, so i'll be interspersing them throughout the rest of part 3. i thought about making them their own separate fic, but this stuff would only really make sense in context of this fic, so might as well have it all collected together. i'll have the actual next chapter ready soon, hopefully later this week! thanks for reading and your feedback and support, guys -- this has been the longest i've stuck with any fic, and you're part of the reason. <3

 

 

_interlude I_

-12 years ago-

Brandt swiped at her split lip with the back of her fist, mottled with blood and bruise. Across the hazy enclosure, a challenger loomed; a bulkhead of a man, all rough angles, so tall that the top of his head knocked the beams. _Tall and slow?_ Brandt thought, hiding her grin. She liked the look of his coin, and how its weight would feel in her pocket.  

The air was thick with the stench of beer and cigar smoke, tinged with a gambler’s specific anxiety, hope and fear balanced on the edge of a coin, waiting for it to fall. As they drew closer, the hulking form slowly took the shape of a tow-headed teenager. Not a day older than sixteen, if Brandt was any judge. “What the fuck’s this kid doing here?” Slat called to the coordinator, baring his grimy teeth. “This ain’t no orphanage.”

Guffaws from around the room; the blond boy turned sharply away, but it failed to hide the flush darkening his cheeks. Brandt felt a twang of pity for the dope … but not enough to take it easy.

“I ain’t a kid,” the boy said stoutly. “I’m a soldier, and I heard this place’s a good time for soldiers.”

“Who said that shit?” Slat demanded. “Who’s been flapping their lip?”

“You, probably,” Brandt said, to the snickers of her companions, the other officers of the 14th Division.

“You sure you’re a soldier? I ain’t seen you around before,” said Tom, leering. “I’d’ve seen you around before.”

“Tomkins, stick it back in your pants,” Brandt snapped, before turning back to the boy, scrutinizing his appearance; he had the bearing of a cadet, straight-shouldered and chin up, looking to prove himself and siphon off a little frustration. Familiar enough. She strode over to the boy and clapped him hard on the shoulder, gratified to see him stumble a bit. “You came here for a fight, yeah?”

The boy’s chin lifted. “Yeah.”

"If you want a fight, I’ll give you one … just remember I ain’t responsible for the money you lose. But make it interesting for me and I’ll make it worth your while."

Just as she’d hoped, her noisy arrogance irritated the newcomer; his brows knitted low, and his mouth twitched whenever she spoke, as if holding back a stream of retorts. "I'd be glad to."

They took their places in the ring, buffeted by jeers from the crowd. A haphazard collection of off-duty Garrison guards were scattered in small groups throughout the room, some six cups deep into their nightly inebriation. They gambled frequently and spent their monthly requisition eagerly, as if afraid they wouldn’t be around to enjoy it if they waited too long. Though this was only the Garrison; the worst thing that happened here was equipment malfunction, or pure dumb luck atop the Wall, and that was a risk no matter what you did. For the most part, it was nice, and safe.

And boring.

“No vitals, no faces,” the coordinator said, shooting the blond boy a dirty look.

The boy’s lip curled, but he allowed the dig to pass without comment.

The coordinator struck a cowbell with a dented mallet, and the pair fell into their fighting stances; the boy rigid and wide, Brandt’s loose, almost lackadaisical. A fool would bum rush her, assuming her to be unprepared – and this boy was a fool. He charged with all the subtlety of a stampede, fists flying; it was an easy thing to sidestep him, her hand flashing out to smack the back of his head. The room erupted into laughter.

Her gambit paid off; it took no time at all to wear down the barrelhouse boy’s defenses, turning his temper and impatience against him, until he was his own worst enemy – overshooting, expending twice as much energy as he needed to with each unschooled maneuver. Soon he was red-faced and huffing from exertion, but the wild glare in his eyes refused to fade. She respected him for that.

A bead of sweat slid down the trench of her spine. Two ragged tendrils had come loose from the messy knot at the nape of her neck, clinging to her damp cheek each time she turned her head. His fist swung out in a tight uppercut, she dodged and sunk her fists into the meat of his ribs. For each ill-considered offense she was there to retaliate with all the expertise only a kid scrapping on the street their whole life could manage.

She saw it in the twitch of his mouth: he knew he was about to lose. With a surge of something that might have been courage, had the venue not been a filthy basement for an illegal boxing match, he feinted left – Saints, he was fast, how was it possible for someone so big to be – and took a wild swing at Brandt, his fist crunching into her nose. And for a moment, she saw that he thought he’d done it, finally, after so many years, so many bruised knuckles and egos, he had actually won. She felt only a little sorry for taking that from him. She dropped to the floor and retaliated with a vicious sweep, sticking her legs between his and pulling – and he slammed into the sawdust like a boulder from a cliff. Before he could clamber back to his feet she was on him, pinning him hard, jabbing her elbow under his chin.  “Call it.”

When the cowbell sounded again, Brandt rolled back to her feet, cracking her aching knuckles. The loser nursed his bruised ribs and shattered pride with a morose expression, like a little boy denied a sweet before bed. “You don’t fight fair,” he gasped, rubbing his throat.

“You’re the one that broke the rules, turkey,” Brandt said from the side of the enclosure, taking a hard swig of ale and palming it off her chin. She left her nose untouched. “No faces. No vitals. You know what kinda story I’m gonna have to spin so nobody gets suspicious? I should charge you for that.”

All semblance of toughness evaporated; suddenly, the boy was every bit as young as she’d known, big pleading eyes, an entreaty spinning around his brain. Brandt treasured these last few moments of peace before he opened his mouth again. “Please don’t,” he begged. “I d-don’t have enough money. I – I came here, hoping I’d …”

“Hoping for a sure thing? Since you’re a big guy, I get it. Here’s a bit of advice for you, scab: _Nothing’s_ a sure thing.”  

The boy hung his head. “Right.”  

“Well … aw, c’mon, you gotta live some too. I ain’t a saint.” She cast him a cursory sidelong glance, studying the dejected line of his shoulders. “You’re pretty good,” she said, failing to stifle a grin.

“You don’t have to placate me,” the boy muttered self-consciously.

“Do I look like the placating type? If I said you did good, you did good, got it? Do I gotta show you the mess you made of my ribs?”

He blinked up at her, the praise finally registering. “Sorry about that.”

She held out a hand to the boy, shaking it once for emphasis. “Get off your ass, turkey. We’ve gotta get back to barracks, don’t we?”

She thought he might be petulant about the assistance, considering how roundly she had reduced his pride to splinters, but with a self-deprecating grin, the boy grasped her hand and hauled himself up. “I’m Daniel.”

“Brandt.”

“Is that your given –”

“It’s the only name you need, turkey. Now get going. I’m not going to miss curfew on account of your lazy bullshit.” She cuffed him on the shoulder, immediately, unaccountably protective. Not everyone took their defeats half as well.

~

Brandt stared down at her battered hands, latticed with pale scars. The knuckle wouldn’t stop swelling, a fact that brought her more joy than it probably would have for a normal person; it meant she finally, _finally_ had an excuse to go get fussed over at the infirmary, an excuse to see _her_.  

Not that Brandt needed an excuse. She knew how to talk to beautiful women, and she could do it whenever she wanted. It was just easier for them if there was pretext. Less intimidating. For the woman.

Brandt shoved the sleeves of her long cotton shirt up to her elbows and prodded her swelling index knuckle with a tentative fingertip, wincing through the burst of pain. She might have gone overboard this time; four fights in one night was pushing it, no matter who you were. But her life as a soldier was just risky enough that she could get away with a little wear and tear; those battered hands just as easily the product of a long day cleaning the walls, scraping your knuckles on sun-baked stone, your foothold slipping as you flailed for purchase.

It wasn’t what she would call satisfying work, but it gave her a steady paycheck and a bunk of her own, and comrades who at least understood she was good for a game of cards, or a round of beating the piss out of each other in the ring (no faces, no vitals). It was better than what she had before. Anything would have been.

“Agatha,” said Inge as she swept inside. Today her white-blond hair was tied up in a severe bun, infirmary apron starched to perfection, her ice-blue eyes cutting Brandt to the heart. She felt her face warm, the retort faltering for half a moment. Only Inge could get away with using her given name.

Recovering quickly, Brandt summoned her most charming smile. “My lovely Inge,” she said, leaning forward. “Miss me?”

“I’d rather not see you like this.”

“Now c’mon, don’t be like that.” She followed Inge into one of the curtained rooms and plopped hard on the crinkly infirmary mattress, brandishing her wounds. "You’re supposed to tell me how brave I am, now that I’ve faced down death and survived.”

“Refresh my memory: were you facing death or pummeling a teenager?”

She must have already seen Daniel, that little traitor. “You know damn well that kid was at least twice as big as me. And he sought me out.”

“So you admit that’s what you were doing. Not scraping your hands and smashing your face through legitimate means.”

“Do you treat all your patients like this? I think I could do with a little more beside manner.”

“I have plenty of beside manner. Now be still.” Inge sniffed once before gently taking Brandt’s hands in hers. “I don’t suppose you’ve stopped cracking your knuckles,” she said quietly, brushing her finger over the swollen joints, so soft that it chased a shiver up Brandt’s spine. “I wish you’d stop fighting,” Inge said, inflectionless.

“Be louder about it, why don’t you! Are you trying to get me discharged?”

“I’m trying to care for your injuries.”

Her heart pinned to her throat; she managed to avoid shivering only by chance, a bit of the luck she knew better than to count on. Saints, she could never keep it together when Inge said things like that; soft-spoken care below the steel, a hot spring beneath a mile of ice.

So gently it hurt, Inge bathed Brandt’s face and knuckles, sponging away the dried dirt and blood, before working a freezing salve into her cheek and knuckles. “I’m sorry,” she murmured when Brandt jumped, apologetic for all the wrong reasons. “I’m almost done. It’ll help with the swelling and pain, should clear it up in just a few days. There now, doesn’t that feel better? Try moving your fingers for me, make a fist then stretch them out … good. That looks good. How does it feel?”

 _Incredible_ , Brandt thought, still staring at her hands as they worked the salve in. Those hands, her lovely hands, the hands of a healer. All Brandt knew how to do was break things, but Inge took the harder road; fixing a broken thing and easing its pain took twice the effort, and even more patience.  “Can barely feel it,” she said casually.

Inge’s mouth twisted with something resembling concern; she leaned away from Brandt, her back ramrod straight. “How long are you going to keep doing this? How many more years?”

They’d been dancing this little dance since the day Brandt had sworn into the Garrison Corps. A fight had broken out between two recruits after the induction ceremony, one resigned to the Garrison, the other smug over her Military Police assignment; Brandt had sustained a dislocated shoulder by the time she was done ‘peacekeeping’, and had needed immediate medical attention. There, her mind hazy from the pain, was Inge; leaning down with sympathy overflowing from those large, ice-blue eyes, the fine-boned features of her face, as if carved from ivory. “Don’t worry,” she said to Brandt, those gentle fingers brushing her shoulder, her neck, checking for damage. Brandt hadn’t been able to speak; her heartbeat smashing her ribs to splinters, her pulse spiking with each errant touch.  

How long are you going to keep doing this?

 _As long as I can,_ thought Brandt. _As long as I’m alive._ She shoved herself to her feet, rolling her shoulders, testing the joints. “As long as it passes the time.”

This was the wrong answer; Inge’s eyes narrowed, her lips pursing. “Be more careful,” she said reproachfully, concern and frustration warring over those austere features, beautiful and remote as a mountain peak.

Brandt turned to leave and cast a jaunty wave over her shoulder, the better to mask her pathetic trembling. “Not a chance.”

~

This was Brandt’s favorite routine, and in the following weeks it took a new, wonderful form; there was a shift in the way Inge looked at her, a longing in the few silences that stretched on between them, like her fingers sketching the shape of a bruise. She was the only person Brandt liked sitting in silence with, listening to the world pass them by, the civilians in a thousand easy conversations, talking only of easy things.  Half the time her silence radiated censure, but sometimes she couldn’t conceal the concern and, Brandt hoped, mutual fascination in her stare, heavy in the charged space between them. (Though she always looked away before Brandt could make a smart comment about it.) Sometimes, a blush rose in her pale cheeks. Sometimes, she let her touch linger on tender skin, longer than was appropriate. Not that Brandt minded.

Her days were spent managing the new recruits in her squad, Daniel included. He kept the details of their first meeting private, and she humored him; it wouldn’t do either of them any good to make the matter public, though Brandt felt especially fond of the little moron, and how deeply earnest he was in attempting to impress his squad leader. Not that she approved of his target, but the rest of the fresh meat could stand to muster a little of his initiative.

“Come on,” she said one early morning, after dispensing orders to the rest of her charges. “You’re up top with me today.”

“Cannons?” Daniel breathed, his grey eyes bright and eager. Despite his size, he sometimes seemed a lot younger than seventeen.  

“Nah, I’m pushing you off the Walls,” Brandt said. “Of course, cannons. I’ll pick someone else to line up my shots if you can’t keep it together.”

“I’m together! I mean – I’ve got it together.” He schooled his expression, adopting the aloof comportment of a soldier. “Ready when you are, sir.”

Dawn had not yet broken over the city of Shiganshina, yet rosy gold light gilded the rooftops as the sun peeked over the hazy line of the horizon. Like a diaphanous city from a dream; awash with color and light, glittering with untold promise. Nothing like the place in daytime. They passed a few other civic duty Garrison soldiers on their way to the Wall; Daniel offered them the obligatory salute, Brandt a cursory nod. She was an officer and could get away with ignoring the formalities, which meant she often indulged, mostly to amuse herself. She mustered an effort for the Commander, though; there were limits to her irreverence.

They took the lifts to the top of the Wall with the rest of the ballistic appointees. Daniel trembled with anticipation; he had never seen a Titan before today. He would only be able to glimpse them from a distance, or through the spyglass, but it more than most people saw in their lifetimes, if they were lucky. She thought about asking him why he hadn’t joined the Survey Corps, if he was so interested, but she supposed she knew already; what kind of idiot would sign themselves up for a certain death between the teeth of a Titan?

They took their positions by their cannons, arrayed around Shiganshina’s main gate. “You remember how to do this shit?” Brandt asked, giving the cannon tracks a little test, before kneeling to oil the catch in the rigging.

“Of course,” Daniel bristled. “Sir. How much longer do you think it’ll be?”

“Not long, turkey. Stop blathering.”

“What are we supposed to –”

She huffed irritably. “We start picking off what we see, clear a path best we can for the Survey Corps as they head out. If we’re lucky, there won’t be that many today.”

Daniel swallowed.

As it turned out, they weren’t lucky. Minutes after day broke, a shambling group of Titans crested the distant hills and sped toward the Walls, unbelievably fast. _Aberrants_ , Brandt thought, her stomach turning. The Survey Corps was in for it today. At her command, Daniel wheeled the cannon around and prepped the ordinance, and she lined up the shot with her spyglass, gritting her teeth as she tracked the largest one on the field, a stooped abomination fifteen meters tall; its face was half teeth, lips pulled wide in a distant, disconnected snarl.

She lit the fuse and brought a hand to her ears, praying, praying that for once this shit would make a difference – but she knew how it would before the rest of the cannons around them fired. How it always went. 

“We need better range of motion with these fucking things,” Brandt cursed as the shot went wide, splattering a hail of dirt against the back of the Titan as it charged, undeterred. Below, she heard the voice of the Survey Corps commander, floating up to their perch atop the world. “They’re gonna have a time of it today.”

Daniel nodded grimly; all they could do now was watch. The ascending gate rumbled beneath their feet, and the Survey Corps charged into the fray, their drawn blades glinting silver in the strengthening daylight. They watched with increasing horror and helpless realization, but Brandt was an old hand at this horror. When Daniel couldn’t bear to see any more, she said nothing, only clasped his shoulder and gave it a little shake.

~

Brandt remained in the mess hall well after everyone had left, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea that had probably been brewed in a washbasin, using whatever water was leftover from a week of baths. She barely tasted it. After drifting through the rest of her day like a ghost, she thought a bit of the old routine would perk her up, but nothing scrubbed the memory of what she’d seen from her thoughts. She’d have to get drunk for that, and that wasn’t an option.

Inge found her not much later. Her pale hair was in slight disarray for once; her wide blue eyes glassy. “What are you doing?” she asked, blinking.

“Drinking some crummy tea,” Brandt said, raising the cup in a sarcastic toast. “Trying not to think.”

Inge took a careful seat across from Brandt. “I expect that isn’t too difficult.”

She hadn’t meant it as an insult, and Brandt lacked the energy to pretend like it had been; it would have cheered her up to tease. “How many times have I seen the goddamn Survey Corps ride out into a mess of Titans, for whatever bullshit? It’s been awhile, I’ve been doing this shit awhile, and it’s not so bad if you don’t think about it.”

“You’re able to do that?” Inge asked softly.

“I used to … just go beat up some arrogant punk who thinks he’s too good to get his ass handed to him by a woman. Have a few laughs at his dumb ass. Not really as much anymore.” Her gaze flickered up, before dropping to her battered hands. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You’ve done this for years,” Inge said, brushing Brandt’s wrist with whisper-light fingers, an unbearably gentle gesture. “What happened?”

“There was this guy … this officer, I think. I was watching through the spyglass, I got Daniel buzzing around my shoulder getting all sick at the carnage, but this guy … he was riding with some greenhorn, you could just tell – couldn’t even keep her horse straight, kept looking back. Screamed a few times.” Brandt shuddered. “She hit a bad patch of road and fell off her horse. There’s this Titan charging the pair of them and he’s got a chance to keep going, right? That’s the kinda thing they tell you you’re supposed to do as an officer, play the long game. What’s one life weighed against all of them?

“But … he went back for the kid,” Brandt said, then took a desperate pull of her disgusting tea. “There was no way he was walking away from it, no way either of them would as far as he could tell, but he went back anyway. He bought her time enough to get back to her horse. And she did, and she kept riding, and that’s the last I saw.”

“Agatha …”

“Who’s to say what happened after that? Maybe she bought it as soon as they were out of sight, and that guy’s grand sacrifice meant fucking nothing. But … Saints, I can’t stop thinking about it. He didn’t even hesitate. That kid was under his charge, and that meant something. He’d have done anything.”

“You feel the same,” Inge said, eyes wide with realization.

Brandt looked away. “It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. That girl … you wanna believe she makes it back, does something with the second chance she got, takes up his place. She probably would if she lived, you get those kinda types in the Survey Corps all the time, the ones that want to make a difference. How much different would it be if those were the ones that lived, if you could – if you could do something –”

Inge had gone still and silent; her hands curled around Brandt’s, squeezing tightly. And it was such a small thing, such a little gesture, but it nearly brought Brandt to her knees; blinking hard, she swallowed the thickness in her throat and tried not to think of the girl, her cameo face through the spyglass, so small and yet so detailed, etched forever in Brandt’s mind. The man between the Titan’s teeth, his blood dripping from its mouth. She shivered, and Inge held on even tighter, and Brandt thought distantly that it was horrible to be suddenly so happy at this moment, when so much was wrong with the world.

“You put me back together,” Brandt whispered, wobbling in place. “You keep me together.” 

Inge’s fingers were cold, and her lip trembled. “Agatha …”

“You have the most beautiful hands in the whole world, Inge.  And it’s even better ‘cause you know what to do with ‘em, and I think hardly anyone really does. I’m such an idiot, I’m making an idiot of myself just to share the same space with you, just for a little while, so you’ll put me back together one more time. It’s like you said, one of these days I’m gonna get knocked hard, or scraped up too bad working the Wall. But it’s worth it,” she said, gripping Inge’s lovely hands tight. “It’s worth it.”

Inge bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood.

“And here, today I didn’t even have to bang myself up for you to put me back together.” Brandt mustered her old nasty grin, hoping to goad Inge into snapping back.

But it had the opposite effect. “Dammit,” Inge said, her voice breaking. Her eyes spilled over, tears chasing down her cheeks.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?!”

“I’m transferring to the Survey Corps,” Inge said in a rush, staring at their entwined hands. Now, when it meant the most, she couldn’t meet Brandt’s eye.

The room had gone still, muffling every merciful sound. “Transferring?” Her voice sounded odd to her ears, insubstantial, _young_.

Inge must have heard it too; her gaze snapped up to Brandt’s, pleading in its intensity. “As the head medic, not a soldier. It’s just a bit north, actually. The base they’re using now. We would …”

“We would what, see each other a few times a year? That’s …” Brandt shook her head, her heart sinking to the faltering pit of her stomach. “This your way of cutting me loose?”

“What?” Inge gasped. “How could you think – I didn’t decide to do this overnight. I thought about it, Agatha. I thought about what I have here, and what I could do there – how much more I could do, for people who needed it more. _I_ need that, too.”

Brandt nodded; she’d known Inge for years now, she should have seen this development coming a mile away.

Inge’s chin lifted, a fortifying gesture. “Anyway. I just wanted you to hear it from me. I didn’t want you to go to the infirmary expecting …”

“Yeah. You’re not that kinda person.” They sat in silence for a long time, and Brandt thought that she loved her, and what a novelty that was, an unexpected gift, to know after so long that you were worthy of it. It came to her in a flash of foreknowing, a realization of fact that had long gone unnoticed. “You know what I’ll do, then?”

Inge shook her head, almost desperately. “Agatha …”

Brandt summoned a roguish grin; somehow it was easier to do than it ever had before. Slow certainty overtook her, a rightness of the world, an alignment of dreams. “Come with you, of course. What else could I be talking about?”

Inge gaped at her. “Just like that?” she managed, blinking quickly.

“Just like that.”

“Why?! You like your life here.”

Brandt squared her shoulders, and, after so long, bared her heart. “I liked my life here when you were in it. Without you, without coming up with ways to bang myself up, so you’ll fuss over me with those incredible hands, there’s nothing but washing walls and aiming cannons and getting into fights to pass the time. Why would I stay? How _could_ I? I’m coming with you, and I’ll be looking after these idiot children that got no business joining something like the Survey Corps, and that’s how it’s going to be.”

For the first time since they’d met all those years ago, tears crowded Inge’s eyes; somehow, in this light, it turned her eyes to the color of open sky in springtime. “It would be different for you,” she said, swiping at them. “You’d be fighting on the field. I’ll just be working in an infirmary, as usual. Training the field medics. It’s different …”

“I don’t care,” Brandt said. “If you said you were going to the Military Police, I’d apply for a transfer there too. I’d probably be rejected, but hey, you never know. I’m not bad with the 3DMG. But you want the Survey Corps, so that’s where I’m going.”

Without warning, Inge shoved away from the table and pulled her to her feet. Before Brandt could say anything, she threw herself into Brandt’s arms, clinging with such ferocity that Brandt couldn’t breathe fully, clutching her shoulders. “I can’t tell you not to.”

“Nope.”

“I’d be a hypocrite.”

“You surely would.”

She was quiet, her fingers tightening on Brandt’s shirt. “You will _not_ die,” she said fiercely. “I’ll only allow this if you promise me.”

“You’ll _allow_ it? Really? I had no idea I had a chaperone.” But Brandt couldn’t muster the appropriate ire, not when Inge was in her arms, trembling with emotion, not when real tears crowded her eyes, catching in her pale eyelashes. She brushed them away with a battered thumb, soft and slow. “I’m nothing special, I’ve never killed anything with my blades. But I’m not gonna let myself go out like an asshole; that’s what I can promise. I’ll do everything I can to come back.”

Inge frowned up at her. “That means you can’t lose your head when something awful happens. Because that’s what the Survey Corps is like, and you will almost certainly die if you get carried away with your emotions.”

“It’s not going to happen,” Brandt said, pressing her face into Inge’s hair (and it was so sweet, like peonies somehow, like springtime, the better to ward away the chill of their fears). “Listen to you. What emotions? When have I ever lost my head.”

Inge pulled away, incredulous. “Is this a joke? You’re teasing me again.”

“I never tease you. I wouldn’t possibly dare.”

“You’re doing it right now.”  

On a swell of emotion, Brandt framed Inge’s face with her battered hands and kissed her hard, as if to seal their accord. And her lips tasted so good, felt so good, she felt so good. Inge made a surprised sound in the back of her throat before her eyes closed, and she clutched at her jacket, crushing her closer, as if even the slightest distance between them was unbearable.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 2 of the interlude -- featuring wil, axel, and oskar! thank you for indulging me in this super self-indulgent exercise <3

_-4 years ago-_

Wil ripped at the sleeves of her scratchy dress, gnawing on her ragged lip and blinking back tears. “I hate her,” she whispered fiercely. “I can’t stand her.”

Oskar patted her shoulder sympathetically.

“I hate _this_ ,” she hissed as she ripped off the elaborate cuff and hurled it aside, where it hit the wall of the barn and bounced onto the floor with a forlorn, muffled sound. Lip curling with satisfaction, she proceeded to tear at the collar with savage fingers, raking her nails against the fine stitching until it gave.

It was Sunday, and the late morning sunshine streamed through the cracks in the walls, bathing them in shifting slats of light. Outside, a chorus of crows called to each other, strident and desperate. Even from this distance, he could hear voices from the town, a background hush so common that it was almost inaudible, impossible to discern. It was Sunday, the worst day of the week.

Oskar swiped up the scrap of fabric and folded it into triangles, giving her a plaintive look.

“Do whatever you want with it.”

He shook his head, measuring his response. She knew what he meant, and was misunderstanding him on purpose. But you could only wait with Wilhelmina; she dictated the time and terms.

Pleased with the destruction she had wrought, or perhaps tired of rebellion, she flopped back into the hay pile and heaved a gusty sigh, her long white-blonde hair fanning out around her head like a halo. “You think I’m overreacting,” she said in a dull voice.

“No,” Oskar said. This was important enough to be explicit, emphatically so, or she’d be claimed by the void of her self-worth. No one could eviscerate Wil’s spirit like her mother. Sometimes, when Wil met them at their tree, bearing her bruise-mottled face with defense pride, Oskar would have to restrain Axel from storming over to her house and making a point. Red-faced, finger in the air; it’d have been a real disaster. “It’ll only make things worse,” Oskar told him, placating, but he couldn’t deny that he often fantasized about doing the same.

He would wait until the blackest night, when the moon turned its face away from the world, before creeping into the village. He’d scale the walls of Wil’s little house, to the bedroom that he knew was her mother’s. And, silently as a ghost, he’d slip out his knife and pick the safe on her lockbox. He’d leave the money and stuff her jewelry in his pocket, any curios she might have an attachment to. Cut all her fine dresses to ribbons, and leave only the plainest. If Wil wouldn’t be the one to bear the fallout, to have it marked on her face, he would have robbed Mrs. Althaus blind.

“I probably am,” Wil said, clenching a fistful of straw before smashing it flat. “That’s what she says.”

Oskar shook his head emphatically. Nothing Mrs. Althaus said was true.

“ _’My mother disciplined me even more stringently than I discipline you, and I certainly didn’t snivel over it,’”_ Wil said in a mocking, faux-aristocratic tone _._ “That’s what she calls it: discipline. Like she’s training a damn dog.”

As it had many times that day, his hatred for Mrs. Althaus increased.  “You don’t hit a dog.”

“Suppose that means I’m less than a dog to her,” Wil said bleakly, her lip trembling. “It doesn’t matter. This is so fucking stupid, I – I don’t know why she cares so much. Gertie’s already got a nice marriage to some rich asshole from Central. It’s not like we’re poor, and shoving us all onto important people is the only way to survive. It’s just that she wants more more more, more and better. It’s never enough. Nothing’s ever good enough.” She chewed savagely at her lip, even after drawing blood.

Alarmed, Oskar touched her shoulder again, showing her the little scrap of lace that he’d painstakingly folded into the shape of a star before crumpling it up and dropping it to the floor, stomping on it hard. Digging his heels in, back and forth. He wished that he could do the same to Mrs. Althaus, dump all her fine dresses in the nearest puddle of muck and stale rainwater, but all he could really do was this, these childish ineffectual bids at comfort. It was a paltry gesture, but it brought a real smile to Wil’s face. “That’s the idea. Fuck that mincey garbage.”

The barn door creaked open loud enough to startle the horses in their stalls, and Axel slipped inside, tiptoeing across the dusty floors with a mummer’s earnest exaggeration. “Do you think she heard me?” he teased, cupping his hand around his mouth and waggling his brows at Oskar.

Wil pretended not to be amused. “I’m looking right at you, stupid.”

“Ah, Wilhelmina, my angel.” He closed the distance between them in two long strides and plopped down beside her, throwing a thick arm around her shoulders and wedging her close.

“Don’t call me that,” she said, jabbing a finger into his side until he yelped. Before he could say anything in his defense, she’d clambered into his lap and tucked herself close, her mouth working against a pleased little grin.

They had grown more obvious over the last few months; touching, kissing, giggling almost beneath earshot. Oskar thought it was nice, mostly; it had the potential to backfire spectacularly, as both his friends were touchy and easily wounded, but he decided to be optimistic. Wil needed a little more love in her life, a little adoration. And Axel adored her utterly; when they parted for the evening, he’d regale Oskar with breathless commentary over everything she’d talked about, and how it managed to be the most interesting thing said by anyone who ever lived, as if Oskar hadn’t been there for most of it.

“I like what you’ve done with your dress,” Axel said, yanking a frayed thread off her cuff, winding it around her finger like a ring.

“You’d like it if even more if I took it off.”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Axel said with great dignity. 

Oskar snorted.

“I mean it, I like this. You looked so miserable at service this morning, I wanted to come up say something. Maybe give your mom some trouble. I would have, if she wouldn’t take it out on you. That – that _monster_ swanning around all pleased with herself, her two lovely, perfect daughters, ladies in training. _Oh, you remember my eldest? She’s made a most advantageous marriage, oh ho ho.”_ His snotty tone echoed off the rafters. “I hate her.”

Wil watched his speech with a watery expression, as if she still couldn’t quite believe anyone would take her side. “That makes two of us.”

Oskar cleared his throat.

“Right, sorry.” She kicked at Oskar’s feet. “Three of us.”

“And she can’t do anything about that,” Axel said firmly. “She can yell and snipe all she wants, we’re not going anywhere.”

“Maybe you should,” Wil said. “Get out of this crummy town. Maybe I’d want to come with you.”

“You know what, yeah! Yeah, exactly. We could move to some other village, maybe even one of the districts, get a nice flat maybe. I’d work the docks or something, Oskar could … ”

Oskar lifted his brows.

“Well, think of all the aristocrats you could inconvenience.”

Oskar couldn’t swallow his fond smile. Nothing dampened Axel’s spirits, not even his circumstances, not even the fact that he had lost his entire family so young. That life before he met Oskar was a whirl of color and music, fantastical and strange, though mummers wandering the world, looking for a bit of money in exchange for an evening of imagination and delight wasn’t so uncommon. Oskar suspected it accounted for his flair for the dramatic, though who could tell how much of a person stayed the same no matter where they were, or what happened to them. For some reason, the thought made him sad.

“You know what I think? We should join the military,” Axel declared. “Military Police, what do you think? She can’t do anything there. She wouldn’t even get to know where you’re stationed, not unless you told her outright or ran into you on the street, or something. And she’d never brag about it either, when it’s more important for her to be rich and powerful, and you don’t get that kind of leverage as a grunt. But they still get the best of everything, the best food, they live in the best districts.”

“That’s only if you’re really good,” Wil argued. “Otherwise you get stationed to some outer district like an asshole.”

“But they promote you, move you around. You still get the best of everything, and people look at you with respect, maybe even pride, for some of them. Because you’re the best of the best, you signed your life away to protect them, to serve society and the King.”

“You think you’d be good enough for that?”

“Sure, why not? You guys would be too. Oskar, you’re fast, and Wil you’re …”  

“Go on!”

Axel went solemn, so painfully earnest that it embarrassed Oskar; he couldn’t imagine being that transparent with his thoughts and feelings. “You’re perfect at everything.”

Wil cobbled together a trembling grin, a pale facsimile of the usual. “Of course I am.”

Oskar frowned. The military was a lifelong commitment; there was no retirement, not when they were so desperate for warm bodies to man the walls and fight the endless horde of Titans beyond. It wasn’t a choice you could turn your back on.

“Just imagine how pissed your mother would be,” Axel said with vicious satisfaction. “And she couldn’t do a thing about it this time. She’ll just stew in her bitterness forever.”

“I hate her so much,” Wil snarled. “’A lady must always look her best.’ Like that’s the only thing that matters, not what she can _do_. I may be a dumbass but I can do a lot more than mince around looking pretty. You have to be pretty first off, and she says I’m not, that the only thing I really have to my credit is my hair. Which is just vanity on her part, because it’s exactly like her hair. It’s the only thing I’ve ever done right.”

“The only thing _she says_ you’ve done right,” Axel clarified gently. “And she’s full of crap.”

“Fuck … the best part is that everyone else will be so proud – oh, how wonderful, your amazing daughter got into the Military Police, what an honor! – because it’s much more interesting and important than marrying some stupid rich asshole. And she’d just have to smile and grit through it, like it didn’t burn her up. That fucking bitch, it would serve her right. It would be so perfect.”

“So, that’s decided then,” Axel said, pulling her closer. “We’re joining the military. There’s a recruitment drive a few weeks from now, I think. That’s when we’ll make our break for it.”

“How do you know that just off the top of your head?”

“I may have been considering it already.” Axel shrugged, averting his gaze. “It’s a good idea, isn’t it?”

But Oskar knew his friend, his brother – he knew that Axel had been searching for a way to save Wil from her circumstances, and the military was the most effective option. Mrs. Althaus really wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, not even if she wanted to. Once you turned twelve, you could sign your own life away, no parental approval necessary. And they were all much older than that.

Wil’s expression darkened. “Don’t do that shit, where you decide things without telling us first.”

“I didn’t decide anything! I just said I’d started considering it. Didn’t I just bring it up to you? Didn’t we just decide together, like always?” Axel seemed genuinely alarmed, desperate for her to understand. “I would never –”

“It’s alright, Axel, calm down,” she said with airy dismissiveness, early mood all but forgotten. “It _is_ a good idea.”

With a gusty sigh, Axel toppled back into the hay, and Wil curled up against him, slinging her arm over his stomach. Oskar watched and felt an inexplicable fondness settle deep in his heart, like the warmth of the sun on a summer’s afternoon. These moments in the barn, away from the rest of the village, away from Wil’s mother and his father’s questions, with just the three of them; they were everything. Because here they could be honest and afraid, here they could be vulnerable, and trust that vulnerability would never be used against each other. Echoing Axel’s sigh, Oskar flopped back too, folding his hands over his stomach.

After a long time, Wil shot upright, scrambling out of Axel’s arms and turning around to face them. “Cut it off,” she breathed, wild-eyed. “She doesn’t control me.”

“Cut … what?”

“My hair. Cut it all off.”

Axel drew back to consider her features, his expression heavy with concern. “Are you sure …? I can’t take it back if you don’t like it.”

“I don’t care what it looks like,” Wil said. “I’m sick of feeling it on my fucking neck all the time, like a rope tightening around me until I can’t breathe anymore. Just cut it all off. Shave it off if you have to, I just want it gone.”

“Are you –”

“If you don’t do, I’ll do it myself. And I’ll probably cut my ears off trying to.”

“What a waste,” Axel said, shooting her an innocent grin, and he reached up to trace the outer curve of her ear with one finger. “They’re such nice ears.”

Oskar eased the knife out of his pocket and passed it to Axel hilt first, feeling a smile threaten. To say he approved was an understatement.

~

Wil had a new bruise the next morning, blue-black blooming over her sharp cheekbones, spreading almost to her ears. But beneath a mop of clumsily shorn hair, her smile was radiant.

“Are you okay?” Axel asked, his voice soft, so gentle, like a cool hand on a hot brow.

“Oh, outstanding,” Wil said with a distracted smile, brushing her fingers over the bruise. “It was so, so worth it. You should have seen her fucking face, that bitch. I didn’t even know people could get that purple. Man … oh yeah, and -- and her lips were shaking. _Shaking!_ Have you ever been that mad? She had to look right in my face and see I’ll never be so scared of her that I won’t do what I want with myself. She’ll never control me.”

Oskar’s heart broke. He knew that edgy energy, rattling your limbs, twisting your thoughts into knots as your entire body strained not to cry, aching from the sheer effort of it. But they had a plan now, a chance to escape, to save someone he and Axel both loved with every inch of their hearts. He didn’t wait to be invited, which ended in disaster at least half the time; carefully, he pulled Wil into his arms and held her. A moment later Axel draped his arms around them both, wedged on her other side. He felt her start to tremble, and for the briefest moment she gripped the back of Axel’s shirt before pushing them both away.

“Gross,” she said, swiping at her eyes. “Don’t give me this mushy shit.”

“I’ll give you all the _mushy shit_ you deserve, gorgeous Wilhelmina, warden of my heart,” Axel crooned.

But he planted a tender kiss to the center of her forehead, and didn’t stop until Wil squirmed away, her face bright red. “Stop calling me that!”

Oskar smiled.


End file.
